


Left On The Sidelines

by artemisia_HQ



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Anxiety, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, Fluff and Angst, Hinata Shouyou & Yachi Hitoka Friendship, Hurts So Good, Implied Masturbation (for now), Jealous Kageyama Tobio, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Pining, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, a lot of crying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2020-02-16 07:23:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 50,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18686818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemisia_HQ/pseuds/artemisia_HQ
Summary: There's no denying their dynamics. Perfectly in-sync, as if they're two bodies with the mind and soul of one. Together, they're invincible, the very epitome of an ideal partnership.Inside a volleyball court.Beyond is a whole different story.When one misunderstanding escalates into another, one bigger than the last, Hinata and Kageyama loses every opportunity thrown their way.One slowly being crippled by anxiety, the other emotionally shutting himself off. Both denying themselves of the obvious. Will they find the courage to step off the line and do what needs to be done?





	1. Nothing More, Nothing Less

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy, writing angst is draining. Mostly because I love these dumb dorks too much to let them suffer and there were times where I wrote too much fluff before I even realized it and I had to backpedal. Oooops ***aggressively hits backspace***
> 
> Title and fic inspired by the song "Why Don't You Love Me" by Hot Chelle Rae ft. Demi Lovato. The moment I heard this, I was like, hey, I could work on this.
> 
> (In case you haven't noticed yet, I use songs as prompts.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hinata acts like a school girl in love
> 
> Kageyama is a dense idiot (what's new) 
> 
> Yachi just wants to be a wing(wo)man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's start off light for now. This is just the premise, actually, and I am still working the story around it but I do have a rough idea on how things will pan out. I'll try to update every week, but I can't promise that it'll be consistent, so I'm apologizing in advance.

Shouyou is used to this. For almost a year and a half, he has witnessed this scene so many times he lost count, and by now this is something he considers as just a normal thing that happens almost every month. Sometimes twice. Who knows, maybe even more, it's not like he's creeping around the bushes trying to snoop. It's just that every time it happens, Shouyou is there, like the universe is conspiring against him, like he just _had_ to be there to watch it unfold.

So he watches as Kageyama bows his head—a bit stiff (the jerk should also be used to this by now)—as he mumbles his apology, his face hidden by his dark fringe. Shouyou knows what Kageyama looks like right now—brows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line, not because he's annoyed or irritated, but because he's feeling guilty. Kageyama never told him, but Shouyou knows him enough to know why, he's projecting his own experience of being rejected and he thinks he can't express his regret enough.

The girl fidgets with the letter she holds in front of her but eventually bows back hastily before running away. Kageyama straightens up and glances at Shouyou's direction, like he knows he's there all this time. Shouyou lifts the bento in his hand and Kageyama nods and retrieves his own bento from the ground before he jogs towards Shouyou.

"You’re so stiff when you bow. Are you getting old, Kageyama-kun?" he teases as soon as Kageyama is in front of him.

Kageyama smacks him upside his head. "Shut up, dumbass."

Shouyou rubs the back of his head. It really doesn't hurt that much anymore, the force from their slaps and smacks lost its bite by the time they start their second year, but he still winces and makes a show for it, you know, for old times' sake.

"That's the second one this month. I still don't get why you're so popular."

"I don't really care. It's annoying,” Kageyama answers with a frown.

They round a corner and walk towards the back of the second gym—their usual lunch spot.

Shouyou flops down at the second step and starts to unwrap his bento. "I mean, you're scary looking and an idiot. You suck at video games and aside from volleyball, you're not really good at anything."

Kageyama sits beside him, legs crossed. He scoffs before responding, "Like you're any better."

"My point exactly. If I'm basically the same, then why am I not as popular as you?" Shouyou quips, pointing his chopsticks at Kageyama, almost poking his forehead.

Kageyama slaps his hand with a click of his tongue. "Shut up and eat. We only have ten minutes left." He opens his bento and nudges it towards Shouyou. "Carrots?"

"Yes pleaaaase!" He pokes around Kageyama's curry with his chopsticks, grabbing the carrots—his curry is always drowning in them—and chucks them into his own bento. When almost half of Kageyama's carrots are in his bento, he picks up half of his pickles and puts them in Kageyama's.

This is their ‘ritual’ before actually starting to eat—Kageyama trading his carrots for Shouyou's pickles. Or in some days, a few of his tempuras for one or two of Kageyama's tamagoyaki. It doesn't matter what their lunch is, they always trade something. Shouyou doesn't know when they started this, it just kind of happened and he's not complaining, Kageyama's mom is great at cooking, a really nice lady with an easy smile.

(He asked Kageyama if he was adopted because there is absolutely no way the pretty smiling lady gave birth to a scary, grumpy boy. He was answered with two big hands grinding his head into oblivion.)

They finish their lunch in silence and soon after, they're casually tossing a ball back and forth like they usually do until the bell rings. They race back to their respective classroom, which is pointless since Kageyama's room is closer than Shouyou's and they can't really tell who gets to take a seat first, but they still do it anyway.

And he's still not complaining. Because all these little routine that they have, all the pointless banters and lighthearted insults, he keeps them close to his heart, tucks it deep inside, treasures it.

Because he can't ask for more than this, he can't demand more than what Kageyama gives him. Because he's content of what they have right now—convinces himself that he is, even if his heart nags at him that it wants more.

 

* * *

 

Shouyou doesn't know exactly when he starts to have that kind of feelings for Kageyama. Maybe he had them for a long time, maybe even back when they were first years, and it only took him almost a year to realize it.

Now that he thinks about it in hindsight, there are signs that what he feels for Kageyama is more than platonic—the way his heart beats a hundred kilometers per hour when they're together, how his stomach drops and his heart clenches whenever he witnesses yet another confession scene, the weird happy feeling he gets whenever Kageyama treats him to something or does anything remotely kind for him (which is happening quite a lot recently).

He tried to deny it at first, convinced himself it's just a momentary hormones thingy, that he's confused with his feelings because they're together all the time. He thought he was just projecting the feeling of euphoria whenever they pull off any of their attacks successfully, or just playing with Kageyama in general. But no, the feeling doesn’t go away, it’s still there, lingering in every little dumb thing they do, off the court, at school, during lunch, _everywhere_.

When he finally come into terms that yes, he’s definitely in love with Kageyama _Freaking_ Tobio—King of the Court and Giver of Murderous Glares—there’s nothing he can do about it. He's already in too deep and it's too late to crawl out of the poophole he's gotten himself into.

So he accepted it, let the growing feelings for his partner fester throughout his entire being. He promised himself he won’t do anything weird, promised himself he would act the same way as before, that he won’t treat Kageyama any differently. Because he doesn’t want to lose the relationship they have now, the bond they struggled to achieve, built from mutual trust and respect, and there is no way Shouyou is letting his dumb mushy feelings for his partner ruin that. Because if there is anything that scares him to death is for Kageyama to find out, to betray his trust, for Kageyama to be disappointed in him. Shouyou consoles himself that as long as he could play volleyball with Kageyama, to be the one closest to him at least on court, then it’s enough.

He’ll repress his feelings, bottle it all up inside, tape it up, weld it shut, _anything_ , just to keep it from showing, to keep Kageyama from ever finding out. He won’t allow himself even a glimmer of hope, to indulge in the delusions nagging at the back of his mind, to let himself daydream of what it will be like to be something more. No good will come out of it, and he’ll only make himself suffer more than he already is.

Because there is positively, 100% percent, no chance in hell, that Kageyama would ever feel the same.

 

* * *

 

The only person he told about his mushy, gross feelings for Kageyama was Yachi-san. He figured he has to tell someone before he implodes with all of his bottled-up feelings. He was terrified at first, that Yachi-san would be repulsed by him and doesn’t want to be his friend anymore if he admits that he likes another boy. See, loving someone you can’t have can cause serious collateral damages. Love is a dangerous thing and, of course, Shouyou got caught up in the middle of it, _dammit_. But he took the risk and opened his heart out to Yachi-san (there may or may not be tears involve). She didn’t say anything until he finished talking, and when he did, she hugged him tightly and just nodded, like she knew all along and that she understood. He did ask her though, if they’re still friends and the mixture of confused and hurt on Yachi-san’s face was enough to take back what he said.

Yachi-san became a confidant of sort; the person he turns to whenever he needs to rant anything that is Kageyama-related. Like that one time Kageyama purposely waited for him when he was on cleaning duty (on rare times he was paired up with Yamaguchi instead of Kageyama) so they can walk home together. When he got home, he called Yachi-san immediately, unable to suppress the happiness he felt that time and gushes, his homework forgotten (oh god, he acts like a freaking school girl in love, _oh wait)._ Or that one time when they had another serious fight which started out as something stupid—he can’t remember what exactly, that’s how stupid it was—but it quickly escalated into a heated argument and they almost got physical again if it weren’t for Takeda-sensei’s intervention. He cried (again) that time, Yachi-san rubbing circles on his back and offering him tissues as they sat at the swings in a park near her apartment.

They eventually made up after a week—Ennoshita-san had to lock them in the clubroom to _‘sort things out right now or else’_ and gave them a pointed look, and after Kageyama muttered that he can’t even remember why they fought in the first place, Shouyou laughed and much to his surprise, Kageyama laughed with him (or snorted or whatever sound Kageyama did that equates to laughing). They went home together, stopping by at Sakanoshita for meat buns, and the feeling of relief and elation Shouyou felt that time was immeasurable. The moment he’s able, he texted Yachi-san and told her the good news. Her only reply was _‘I told you you’d make up soon.’_ He still doesn’t understand why Yachi-san sounded so sure then, but then again she’s smart so maybe she knows more about these things than him.

He’s eternally grateful for her reassurances, her kind words, being a literal shoulder to cry on, and just being a good friend in general. Yachi-san is his girl best friend, the first one he ever had, and when he told her that, she blushed furiously but happily declared that Shouyou is her first guy best friend, too. Soon enough, ‘Yachi-san’ became ‘Yacchan’ and ‘Hinata’ became ‘Shou-kun.’

There are times though, that he regrets (just a little bit) telling Yacchan about his crush on Kageyama. Whenever he talks to or interacts with Kageyama, she has this starry-eyed look flitting between them, like she’s expecting something to happen, and it’s so obvious, Shouyou have to stop talking to Kageyama or distance himself just for Yacchan to stop looking at them like that. Good thing Kageyama is as dense as a rock, and he never notices the _look_ Yacchan is giving them. He just frowns or yells at Shouyou to _‘come back here, dumbass, we’re not done talking!’_ whenever Shouyou would cut off their conversation halfway and run off. He tells her as much, to stop whatever it is she does with her eyes, and Yacchan would apologize and promises to stop, but she does it again, and again, and _again_. She frantically tries to explain that she's not even aware that she’s doing it, and when she looks like she’s about to cry, Shouyou just sighs and tells her that it’s fine. He just hopes that Kageyama would remain as oblivious as ever and wouldn’t notice the literal hearts shooting out of Yacchan’s eyes directed at their general direction.

But the thing that annoys Shouyou the most is when Yacchan would nag at him to just confess. The first time she brought it up was the day right after he confided in her, cornering him after practice and asked him if he’s going to tell Kageyama.

“But I thought you were just asking for moral support, or…or if I could be a wingman—or woman—to help you out,” Yacchan asked, tilting her head in confusion.

Shouyou had to clench his fist to stop himself from face-palming. He explained as gently as he can, that that was not the case, that he didn’t need any help whatsoever, because he never planned to confess in the first place. Because why would he? He’s not too keen to get his heart broken more than it already is, because clearly, Kageyama doesn’t feel the same. Yacchan opened her mouth to say something but Shouyou pleaded to just drop the topic, and the look on his face must’ve been enough for Yacchan to promptly shut her mouth and nod her head quickly.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the last time Yacchan tried to convince Shouyou into confessing, and every time she did, he would (patiently) shut her down. He was a bit surprised by this side of Yacchan; despite her anxiousness and somewhat insecure disposition, she’s unusually stubborn and persistent. She would bring it up out of the blue, no preamble, just pop the question randomly, and it never fails to bring a violent blush and an embarrassing amount of spluttering from Shouyou.

They’re sitting on the grass during lunch break (the second gym is undergoing its bimonthly maintenance), waiting for Kageyama, when Yacchan brings it up again.

“I told you a hundred times, Yacchan,” Shouyou starts, keeping his tone as calm as possible, “I will never tell Kageyama. So drop it already.”

Yacchan rolls her eyes, a feat Shouyou didn’t know she’s capable of until recently. “But you never know what will happen! He might feel the same!”

Shouyou carefully places his bento on his lap, balancing his chopsticks on top of it. He sighs. “And I’m telling you, he doesn’t.” He ignores the slight pang on his chest.

“You don’t know that unless you ask! Shou-kun,” she edges closer to him, “I honestly think he likes you, too.”

He instantly reddens, much to his chagrin, and his heart skips a beat. _Stop it_. He exhales deeply and risks a glare towards his friend. “Yacchan, please don’t.”

She flinches but her stubbornness seems to be stronger than his glare. She folded her arms across her chest and glares back. “I’m not being biased or anything. I’m not the only one who thinks so. Ask any of our club members and they’ll tell you the same thing.” Her gaze softens as she continues, “He cares about you.”

Shouyou snorts. “Care doesn’t mean like. Not in the same way I do.”

“Oh, come on, Shou-kun!” Yacchan throws her hands up, exasperated. “You say Kageyama-kun is dense, but you’re just as dense! Maybe even more!”

“I am not!” he counters immediately, his bento almost falls off his lap by his sudden outburst. He lowers his voice. “He doesn’t like me _that way_ , okay, so just—just stop.”

His chest is constricting, and he could feel the prickling of tears at the corner of his eyes. Damn it, he really is bad at controlling his emotions—he should be given a gold medal for being able to rein in his feelings for Kageyama and not do something horrifying (like kiss him, maybe).

“Who doesn’t like you?”

_Oh great. The universe really must hate me._

Shouyou immediately runs a hand across his face, trying to subtly wipe the impending tears, and turns towards the voice. Kageyama is standing behind them, his usual scowl plastered on his face, but Shouyou could tell a hint of confusion and curiosity.

“My cousin,” he lies (or maybe not, because his cousin Saito is a massive jerk who likes to bully him), then trying to avert the topic, he adds, “What took you so long, Bakageyama? Can’t decide which milk flavor you’re gonna pick even if you buy the _exact same thing every day_?”

He only has a second to duck before there’s a large hand swiping at his head. He sticks his tongue out and Kageyama grunts before dropping down next to him. He retrieves something from his pants pocket and throws it at Shouyou, catching it immediately.

He fumbles at the milk carton on his hands and eyes Kageyama warily. “Why’re you giving me this?”

“I had an extra change.”

“Uh-huh. And you didn’t poison it?”

Kageyama scowls and starts to reach for the milk carton in Shouyou’s hand. “Dumbass! If you don’t want it—”

Shouyou extends his hand out of Kageyama’s reach and grins. “I’m just kidding, jeez. Thanks, Kageyama-kun!”

There’s a warmth filling him up inside and he couldn’t help the wobbly grin on his face as he punches the carton with the straw and sips the cold milk.

He’s so engrossed with the feeling of giddiness that he forgets that Yacchan is sitting on his other side. This kind of thing happens a lot actually. It’s like every time he’s with Kageyama, the rest of the world falls away and it’s just them in their own little bubble—to Shouyou at least.

He whips his head towards her, about to apologize, but she’s smiling, and there it is, there’s that _look_ again. Shouyou gives her a pointed stare and a slight shake of his head to _‘stop it, please stop’_ and Yacchan just smiles even wider, and wiggles her eyebrows. Seriously, if he doesn’t adore this girl, he would’ve throttle her neck by now.

Kageyama seems to just notice Yacchan and he rubs his neck as he mumbles, “S-sorry I didn’t get you anything, Yachi-san. I didn’t have enough change.”

Yacchan giggles (Shouyou has to suppress a groan) as she waves one hand in front of her. “Oh, that’s fine. Actually, I just remembered, I have something to ask Yoshida-sensei about the history homework.”

She stands, gripping her bento in one hand, the other patting down her skirt to remove bits of grass stuck on it.

Shouyou gapes at her. “But you haven’t eaten lunch yet!”

_No, no, no_. He knows what she’s doing, he’s not that dense as _some people_ insist, and he desperately pleads with his eyes, trying to tell her to _stop_ whatever she’s trying to pull.

“I’m on a diet.” Yacchan just shrugs, and she _smirks_ at him.

Ruthless, Yachi Hitoka is a ruthless, cold-blooded, traitorous friend and he’s going to strangle her later (okay, maybe not, just flick her in the forehead or something).

Yacchan starts walking away, waving at them as she goes. “Well, enjoy your lunch, you two!” She gives one last look at Shouyou and winks, and she doesn’t even try to make it subtle (Okay, strangling it is).

They both stare at Yacchan’s retreating figure. Shouyou is still gawking at her and Kageyama is frowning, clearly confused by the whole thing, and Shouyou is thankful for the umpteenth time that his partner is a dense idiot.

“What was that about?” Kageyama asks as he opens his bento.

“I have no idea.”


	2. Tip of My Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kageyama says the right things at the wrong (right) times
> 
> Hinata almost trips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update! I actually finished this right after chapter one, I just proofread and revised some bits. 
> 
> ***
> 
> Things will get heavier from here on out
> 
> There's a slight panic attack scene but it's not a full-blown episode. Just a little warning in case it might be triggering to some.

The months pass by in a blur. Karasuno is once again invited to Tokyo for training camp, and Shouyou is beyond himself to see familiar faces, but isn’t quite the same without the old third years. He misses Bokuto-san’s boisterous hooting, even Tsukishima is a bit bothered that Kuroo-san wasn’t there to pester him. At least Kenma is still there, and Lev and Inuoka, and he gets to meet new, exciting players, like that two-meter guy from Shinzen and the bored looking dude from Fukurodani that blocks like Tendou-san. Shouyou is fizzing with excitement to play with them, and even if he doesn’t say, Kageyama is feeling the same—he has this dumb excited look on his face that to some people would look like he’s plotting homicide.

Their new team is still rough around the edges—it wasn’t easy to fill the shoes left by the third years—but still they’re nothing to scoff at. Their five new first years are actually good, they just need time to adjust and soon they’ll be riding Karasuno’s dynamic. Ennoshita-san is an effective captain, a less scary Daichi-san, but he could be intimidating when he wants to be. Tanaka-san is their new ace and vice-captain, still loud and rowdy, but he gets serious when it really counts. Noya-san has taken their new first year libero under his wing, teaching him how to properly do an effective ‘rolling thunder.’ Narita-san and Kinnoshita-san have improved greatly, the former now has Shouyou’s previous position. Tsukishima is still an asshole, but he plays more seriously now, his read-blocking is on another level that sometimes Shouyou has a hard time going against him (just _sometimes_ , okay?). Yamaguchi’s serves are outright scary and cool, and together with Tsukishima, their serve-and-block combo is something their opponents are starting to get wary of.

But still, nothing could compare to his and Kageyama’s partnership. Their multitude of attacks are honed to perfection, and now that Shouyou has moved on to be a wing spiker, they’re on court together all the time, much to their opponents’ irritation. His receives have vastly improved—Noya-san never fails to compliment him whenever he digs a ball perfectly (Kageyama is still holding out on him, the jerk)—, and now he’s working on his serves. Kageyama is still amazing, now embracing his title as King of the Court, even if he still struggles on how to ask for what he wants. The new first years are terrified of him, no surprises there, but he’s actually civil towards them, and even tries to correct their forms or anything he notices that they’re doing wrong. He still sounds like an overbearing jerk, but Shouyou is there every time to reassure their poor kouhais that Kageyama means well and that he’s not going to murder them in their sleep if they don’t do what he says (“I’ll murder _you_ , dumbass!”).

It’s their second week on training camp and Shouyou is practicing his serves with Kageyama (it took a lot of begging _and_ a lot of meat buns just to get Kageyama to teach him how to do a jump serve). It’s harder than he thought and he could see the veins jutting out of Kageyama’s temple, his scowl deepening whenever he misses the timing of his jump. But he’s unusually patient, and tries to show him what he’s doing wrong, and they go at it until Narita-san pokes his head on the gym’s door and calls them for dinner.

They’re sitting atop the famous hill, the very same one they had to sprint whenever they lose a game. Shouyou is sprawled on his back on the grass, it’s a bit dewy and he could feel the moist soaking through his shirt. Kageyama is leaning back on a tree, mindlessly spinning his towel with one hand.

They talk about the games that day, which team is strong this year, what strategy to use to counter them, the misses they’d done and analyzing their mistakes. It still feels weird, just talking to Kageyama like this, without all the yelling and arguing, but they’re both past the pointless aggression towards each other (sure, they still get into petty arguments and bicker twenty times a day, _minimum_ ) and even if they won’t admit it out loud, they just understood each other in a level that no one can. There’s this connection between them that he can’t explain, and maybe that’s why Shouyou found himself drawn to Kageyama, found himself falling in love with him. Because being with Kageyama feels right somehow, like nothing else matters as long as he’s with him. Because he feels like he can do anything, be everything. Because Kageyama helped him to become stronger, to _fly_ , to be able to reach for the skies, to open new doors he won’t be able to just by himself.

Because Kageyama makes him feel invincible.

When Kageyama first said that to him way back first year, he was taken aback. _What the heck is this guy going on about?_ Truth be told, he was angry at him that time, Kageyama basically told him he can’t become the ace because he still sucks and he could feel his fury rising when he declared that as long as he’s there, he’ll be the strongest. It registered as an insult to him at that moment, it sounded like he was useless without this arrogant-but-irritatingly-talented-jerk. But when Kageyama tosses to him and Shouyou slams the ball down past the blockers, he understood. As long as they’re together, they’re at their best. It doesn’t matter whether he’s the ace or not, it doesn’t matter if he’s a genius setter or not, what matters is what they can do when they’re together. And the more he gets to play with Kageyama, the more they spend their time together, Shouyou understood.

“Oi, Hinata, are you listening?”

“Hmm? Sorry, I spaced out.” He pushes himself up by his elbows. “What were you saying?”

“Dumbass. I was telling you to get your shit together and stop wasting my time and do a decent jump serve.”

“Well, if my teacher isn’t some jerk who yells at me every minute then maybe I could concentrate on my timing.”

“You ungrateful little shit.”

Kageyama lunges at him, and cages Shouyou’s head between the crook of his arm into a headlock. Shouyou laughs and when Kageyama tightens his hold against his neck, he taps out, gasping for breath. Kageyama loosens his grip and Shouyou takes the opportunity to shove him away; Kageyama rolls sideways on the grass.

“Are you trying to kill me, Bakageyama?!” he huffs, inhaling a lungful of air.

Kageyama sits upright. “Tsk, why would I kill you when you still suck?” There’s grass stuck on his shirt and his hair, and Shouyou’s fingers twitches, resisting the urge to reach out and run his fingers through silky black hair.

Instead, he crosses his arms (mostly to keep them from fidgeting) and pouts. “I don’t suck that much anymore.”

“I know.”

Shouyou gapes at him. “Did you just _agree_ with me?”

Kageyama averts his gaze, glaring at his sides, then mumbles under his breath, “Don’t get used to it, dumbass.” Then suddenly, he faces Shouyou, steely blue eyes piercing. “Tomorrow, on our match versus Nekoma, do a jump serve whenever you feel like it. You always do well under pressure. I know you can do it.”

_I love you._

The words are right there, on the tip of his tongue, ready to be plucked out, but he manages to swallow it before he makes the biggest mistake of his life.

His skin is burning, itching, all his emotions threatening to spill from his pores and it’s too much, it _hurts_ , his chest is caving in on itself and it’s getting harder to breath. He’s trembling from head to toe and suddenly feels terrified, more terrified that he’s ever been in his life.

He stands up, startling Kageyama, who follows his actions promptly (always prepared, the dumb jerk) and when Shouyou runs down the hill, he’s torn between laughing or crying so he does both, and dashes at full speed, calls of _‘dumbass’_ and _‘false head start’_ behind him muffled in his ear.

 

* * *

 

Kageyama corners him after breakfast the next morning, demanding why he ran off like he did last night. Shouyou feigns nonchalance, saying he suddenly had the urge to poop and when Kageyama’s face contorts to disgust and smacks his head, Shouyou knows he’s in the clear.

He barely slept last night.

He was this close, _so close_ , to ruining everything. Just when he thought he got everything under control, stupid Kageyama just have to say something like that, and all of his tightly bounded feelings unravels. He can’t afford a slip-up like that to happen again, he can’t keep making excuses and lie to Kageyama’s face because as stupid as his partner is, he’ll eventually notice that something is wrong with Shouyou. He always does, and Shouyou is scared out of his mind that if Kageyama confronts him about it, and when push comes to shove (in this case, literally), Shouyou would ultimately tell him the truth. He’s a terrible liar to begin with, and he’s surprised he didn’t stutter when he lied to Kageyama just now. His fear must’ve been bigger than his conscience, and he laments the fact that he’s becoming a terrible person just because of one stupid crush.

He recounts the events of last night to Yacchan later that day and she just listens and nods, like she always does. When he finishes, Yacchan, takes both of his hands to hers and stares at him intently. He never saw this kind of determination burning in her eyes before and he holds her gaze, bracing himself for whatever she’s about to say.

“Shouyou, it might be a good idea to tell him.”

He’s about to burst, but Yacchan cuts him off, squeezing his hands tightly. “No, hear me out.” She closes her eyes and heaves a sigh.

When she opens them, her gaze softens. “Holding in your feelings is not a good thing. It’s bad for you emotionally, and soon it’ll affect you physically. Why do you think I keep nagging at you to confess? And knowing you, it must’ve been really hard for you to hold back. You almost had a panic attack last night, do you realize that? I’m worried about you, Shou-kun.”

“I don’t think confessing would make me feel better, because I know I’ll be rejected then Kageyama would be disappointed in me and then he’ll hate me and he won’t play with me anymore and I might really die if that happens,” he says all this in a single breath, and he could feel a sting in his eyes.

“But what if he doesn’t?” Yacchan counters and Shouyou is about to rebuff her, but she continues, “What if he did reject you, but he still wants you as a friend? You’re not giving him enough credit, Shou-kun. He’s your best friend, isn’t he? Like your real best friend, the person you trust the most.” Shouyou nods.

Yacchan smiles faintly. “Then, why don’t you trust him in this? Because I don’t think he can ever hate you. You mean a lot to him, even I can see that. And won’t it be a good thing if you get rejected?”

“How is getting rejected a good thing?” he practically screeches.

“You can move on,” she says, matter-of-factly, “at least you get to tell him how you feel. You can have a proper closure then. It’ll become easier.”

Shouyou considers this. Yacchan had a point, it’ll be so much easier to give up on Kageyama if he got rejected. It’ll hurt but doesn’t he know he’ll get rejected anyway? What difference does it make of him knowing and hearing it in Kageyama’s voice?

 _‘I’m sorry, I don’t feel the same way.’_ He would say. Or maybe _‘Dumbass, if you have time for gross lovey-dovey feelings, then why do you still suck at serving?’_   That sounded like something Kageyama would definitely say. _‘Disgusting. Stay away from me from now on.’_ That one would hurt the most, but if he’s prepared for it, it won’t hurt that much, right?

He tries to imagine it, picture a scenario in his mind where he confesses and Kageyama answering him with those words, face scrunched up in repulsion, and spits his rejection at him like venom, and…and he can’t. Just visualizing it twists his stomach dry and shreds his heart to a million pieces.

“I—I can’t.” He chokes back a sob. “I can’t do it.”

Yacchan unclasps her hands from his to place it gently on his shoulders. “Shou-kun, can I ask you a question?” she asks, voice soft.

When he doesn’t answer, Yacchan slowly retrieves her hands from his shoulders. Shouyou’s skin starts to itch again and the two slices of watermelon he ate earlier is churning in his stomach, threatening to make a reappearance. He just nods, he’s afraid the moment he opens his mouth he’s going to hurl red vomit at his friend.

“Have you even considered the possibility that Kageyama-kun might feel the same way?”

Shouyou blinks. The silence stretches on as they stare at each other then he laughs, but it sounded disjointed, halfway between a scoff and a sob. “No. Because I know he doesn’t."

“How can you be sure?” Yacchan’s brows are knitted together, like she has a hard time believing what he had said.

He lets out a shaky sigh. “Because he’s a volleyball idiot. He’s got a one-track mind, and there’s only one thing in his—volleyball. There’s no way he’s interested in anything else, much less another person. Much less someone like me.”

He already knows this; it’s ingrained deep inside his entire being. It’s what keeps him from clinging to false hope, that small off-chance that Kageyama might like him back. Every time his thoughts wander to _maybes_ or _what ifs_ , this is what reins him back to reality, to stop his pointless fantasies. But saying it out loud like this, hearing his quaking voice form the words, is like an expected punch in the gut. Expected, but it still hurts.

Yacchan starts to open his mouth to say something, but Shouyou stands and tries to give her a toothy smile—it’s the best he could do to express his gratitude. He just needs to be alone right now.

“Thanks for listening to me again, Yacchan,” he says. “Sorry for the bother.”

Before she could even reply, Shouyou jogs back to the gym. The watermelon has settled in his stomach, but what he didn’t expect to come out was the warm tears spilling down his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always thought of Kageyama as the type of person who doesn't express his opinions/feelings as much unless he's prompted, but when he does, you know he really means it. A bit tactless most of the time, but still sincere nonetheless. And he's unaware how his words affect the other, or how his words might be taken in a completely different way.
> 
> But I don't know, maybe he does mean it that way. We all know what I'm talking about here, right? Are we still on the same page? No? Okay, I'll just—start writing the next chapter then. ***awkwardly closes door***


	3. Ghost of A Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hinata can't say no
> 
> Kageyama is a king who does what he wants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the most challenging chapter to write so far since this is the biggest turning point for the story and whatever I decided to write in this chapter could completely change what I initially plan for this fic. I just hope that this is the best route to take (-_-;)・・・
> 
> Also a little bit of disclaimer: I know I said that it'll get angst-er, but the fluff is necessary. But there is a little bit angst, for like, maybe two seconds. I promise, the next chapters are going to be so full of angst you'll puke.

Yacchan stopped convincing him to confess after what happened in Tokyo. She didn’t bring up the topic again and Shouyou is both relieved and grateful. He still goes to her whenever he needs to vent off some steam, when Kageyama gets on his nerves (which is all the _damn_ time) or when Kageyama does something completely out of character, like buying Shouyou an extra meat bun without him even asking for it. Thrice. In the same week. It made him happy, and at the same time angry; he doesn’t need more fuel to fill the dam of feelings he has for his partner. He tries to find reasons to hate Kageyama, to at least mitigate the repercussions of Kageyama’s questionable actions, to balance the scales.

But it's hard, now that Kageyama is relatively nicer to him compared to when they were first years. Even his range of insults—which is only limited to _dumbass_ , _idiot_ , or _stupid_ , in that order of frequency—lost its sting and it’d be even weirder not to hear Kageyama call him 'dumbass' at least ten times a day. Even his violent tendencies are something Shouyou now expects, he could see it coming before it happens, and sometimes Kageyama’s head grinding would turn to hair ruffling for just a millisecond (or maybe it’s just Shouyou’s imagination running wild again).

And now Kageyama’s doing stuff he’s never done before. Treating him to meat buns or milk boxes just because. Or offering him his water bottle when Shouyou’s ran out, then Shouyou will realize after he’s done drinking that they just had an indirect kiss, and it shouldn’t make him happy because it’s stupid, but it does. He would sometimes purposely fills his water bottle halfway or he’ll ‘accidentally’ forgets to bring it just for Kageyama to offer his. He does this for about a week, feeling like a massive idiot for being happy and at the same guilty for taking advantage of Kageyama like this—so much for not doing anything weird.

Shouyou bangs his head on a tree repeatedly (much to Yacchan’s horror); he should be finding ways to get over Kageyama, yet here he is being a complete pervert. He’s a disgusting excuse for a human being and he should probably distance himself from Kageyama before he does something more despicable than instigating an indirect kiss.

Then it hits him ( _literally_ , he’s still banging his head against the tree, and yup, there’s blood now). He _should_ distance himself from Kageyama from now on. It’s what ignited this stupid crush to begin with, the closeness and the familiarity, and slowly extinguishing that would hopefully lessen his burning feelings. It’ll be hard, he can’t imagine not doing the things he normally does with Kageyama, but he has to. For both of their sakes.

He starts small. Shouyou intentionally arrives later than usual for morning practice to avoid racing Kageyama. It was easy, and he really should be pleased about his little accomplishment, but it only leaves him empty and lifeless for the rest of the day. He didn’t realize how much their morning races kickstart his adrenaline, spur his engine to life. How much it makes him feel _alive_.

He does this for three straight days and Kageyama is giving him this look between annoyed and confused every time Shouyou shows up late. On the fourth day, Shouyou could literally see the vein from Kageyama’s temple pulsing when Shouyou arrives fifteen minutes late—the latest he’s ever been.

“What the hell is going on with you, dumbass? Why are you always late?” Kageyama hisses as soon as Shouyou is within hearing range.

He resists the urge to cringe as his mouth spews lies, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Shouyou avoids Kageyama’s glare, busying himself with putting on his kneepads.

The vein audibly snaps and Kageyama growls, “Don’t act stupid, stupid.”

Shouyou stands and braces himself as he finally looks up at Kageyama. “Give me a break, Kageyama. I live in a freaking mountain, it’s a given I’ll be late sometimes.”

“That didn’t stop you before from coming in earlier than anybody else.”

“Maybe I don’t feel like going in early all the time, okay?" Shouyou feels a lump in his throat but forces it down. “What’s the point, anyway, it’s not like I should be here at the crack of dawn every damn time.”

The annoyed look on Kageyama’s face pales the moment the words are out of his mouth, replaced by something indescribable, a look Shouyou never seen before and hopes he never will.

But when Kageyama blinks, it’s gone, and now it’s a look Shouyou is well acquainted with—anger.

“ _Fine_. Do what you want. I don't care.”

It was said barely a whisper, but the sting behind those words is more hurtful than any insults and Shouyou grips the hem of his shirt so tight his knuckles are turning white.

He shows up fifteen minutes earlier than usual the next morning and when he sees Kageyama entering the school gates, he unmounts his bike, leaving it clattering on the sidewalk and starts to sprint at full speed.

When he hears a familiar thud and a roar of _‘dumbass cheater!’_ behind him seconds after he passed by Kageyama, his heart expands and he could feel the adrenaline pumping in his veins, feeling more alive than he’s ever been for the past week.

And he’s a weak idiot and he’s so _screwed_.

 

* * *

 

After his first failed attempt to distance himself from Kageyama, Shouyou is going out of his mind trying to find ways on how to give up on his stupid crush. He tried not spending his lunch breaks with Kageyama, but the second the bell rings, Kageyama is already in the doorway of his classroom, glaring pointedly at Shouyou, yelling _‘Lunch, dumbass!’_ and he has no choice but to follow him to their usual lunch spot. He tried not going to their extra practices, but who is he kidding, he can’t let his volleyball suffer too. Nothing would get in the way of volleyball, even if he has to endure another hour of close proximity with Kageyama.

Shouyou knows he’s contradicting himself at every turn, telling himself he’ll keep his distance from Kageyama, but every time Kageyama invites him for a sleepover, he just can’t seem to say no. His mind is screaming one thing, but his body seems to follow his heart more. There’s this quote he heard once in a movie: ‘The heart wants what it wants.’ And dammit, his heart is really pushing for what it wants. It’s like it has a mind of its own, making Shouyou do things he should do the opposite of.

It’s torture—agonizingly indulgent and selfish—but still torture.

He tries not to curl up against Kageyama whenever they sleep together (they forego using his extra futon by their third sleepover, Kageyama stating it’s a bother to pull out and fold it again, and that his bed is big enough for the both of them and they’re both boys anyway. _Ha!_ ), tries to ignore the electricity zapping throughout his entire body whenever their skin made contact, tries not to notice the line of milk on Kageyama's upper lip or the way his tongue runs over it, tries to calm his heart whenever Kageyama says a half-compliment or anything remotely nice to him. Shouyou tries but as with most things that involves Kageyama (not including volleyball), he fails.

Hopeless, his situation is completely hopeless. Whatever plans he have to distance himself from Kageyama, the dumb jerk always finds a way to derail that completely. _No_ , this isn’t Kageyama’s fault, this is on him, because Kageyama is just doing things his way, being the stupid king he is, and Shouyou’s the weak one here—the weak loser who can’t say no, taking advantage of Kageyama’s friendship for his own personal wants.

This should stop—seriously this _has_ to stop, because Shouyou’s dam of feelings is overflowing, walls leaking, dripping, and it won’t be long until there’s a gaping hole and all of his bottled up emotions would come rushing out, drowning Shoyou in a tidal wave of unrequited love. There were a couple of times where he even considered confessing just to get this over with, to have some reprieve, even if he would have to experience the pain of rejection. And it would be so easy, just blurt the words out, the number of opportunities to do so have been exceedingly numerous—it’s like the universe is purposely giving him these chances. Except that it’s not, his initial fear of breaking Kageyama’s trust acts like a brake whenever his mouth starts to form the words, and he would swallow it, bitter and full of regrets.

This sweet, agonizing torture continued all throughout their second year and Shouyou is surprised at himself that he hasn’t exploded or gone insane yet, and Kageyama remained as oblivious as ever, still being uncharacteristically nice to Shouyou. And now that Yacchan planted the idea in his mind, his inner thoughts are pestering him to open the door of possibilities, the one he desperately tries to ignore, chucking its key far from his consciousness. But now, it’s opening, slowly but surely, and the promising light emanating from its cracks is so tempting, and Shouyou’s thoughts would start to wander again, delving into the realms of _‘what ifs’_ out of his own accord, and before he knew it, the door is wide open, the key finding its own way to unlock it.

It’s hard not to when every little thing Kageyama does is annoyingly endearing, the very things that made Shouyou fall in love with him in the first place—and now even more so. Aside from the excessive amount of time they spend with each other, Kageyama is now, to put it simply, gentler to Shouyou, or as gentle as Kageyama can get. He fusses over him when Shouyou hurts himself during practice (which to Shouyou’s defense doesn’t happen _that much_ anymore), yelling at him like usual, but the hand touching him is gentle and there’s a worried look on Kageyama’s face that never fails to make his heartbeat go abnormally fast.

Kageyama walks him halfway home now, instead of turning right on the first intersection where they usually part, and it confused the heck out of Shouyou the first time he did it.

“Wh-why are you following me, Bakageyama?! Are you trying to murder me?!”

“No, dumbass! I-I’m taking you partway to your house!”

“What? Why?”

“I heard there’s a crazy criminal lurking around this area and I know you’re a magnet for dangerous guys and I’m just making sure that you won’t get killed because who’d hit my tosses if you’re dead?”

Kageyama says all that with a straight face, unflinching, and terrifyingly honest and it shouldn’t made Shouyou disgustingly happy, but it did, unable to subdue the wobbly smile and the red splashed on his face, his heart trampolining up and down his chest as Kageyama walked beside him until they parted at the  edge of the mountain.

And it didn’t stop there. They now hang out at Shouyou’s house as often as they did at Kageyama’s and it’s really difficult to resent someone when your sister adores _the ‘big scary onii-chan’_ who gives her piggyback rides and lets her braid his _‘pretty silky hair’_ , giving a disappointed look at her own brother while saying so. It’s hard not to smile as your mother dotes on the _‘nice, tall young man’_ (Shouyou snorts at the ‘nice’ part, earning a kick in the shin under the table) who helps her prepare dinner, reaching over the cupboards to pull out pots and pans with ease. It’s hard not laughing along with him, eyes tearing up and stomach aching, as they watched yet another corny comedy that no one gets the jokes except them. It’s hard not to open up to him about the one thing Shouyou never told anyone, how easy it was to pour out all the buried resentment he feels for his father when he left them. It’s hard not to feel at ease at the hands awkwardly patting his back as he cries, telling him that if he ever needs someone to talk to, he’ll always be there to listen (Shouyou notices the pink creeping across Kageyama’s face despite the low light from his nightstand).

And it’s irritatingly hard to ignore the expectation blooming across his chest, that tiny glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, Kageyama actually cares about him. Like _that_.

(Whoever said that he’s a walking ball of sunshine is _dead wrong_ because he’s a walking disaster full of contradiction and hypocrisy.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But really, can you blame Hinata for having expectations when your crush acts like that?
> 
> I sure can relate ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	4. Put To The Proof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kageyama and signs
> 
> Hinata caves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay. Here it is, the angst that was promise. Or the beginning of it, anyway. To anyone who thought that this is going to be all sparkles and warm, fuzzy shit, well...
> 
> ***
> 
> Also, I'm having a bit of writer's block as of the moment. I'm halfway done with the next chapter but I'm not sure it's any good, I might re-write the entire thing, I dunno. I don't want to half-ass this so I'm taking my time. I do have a general outline but I am struggling how to go about it. 
> 
> Soooo, the next update might take longer than usual. Please accept this early chapter as compromise (っ˘̩╭╮˘̩)っ

“Yacchan, do you really think Kageyama feels the same?”

Shouyou flinches as high-pitched screams emanates from his phone and he instinctively pulls the phone away from his ears. He could hear thumps, maybe Yacchan bouncing up and down. He waits for her to calm down, leafing through the latest issue of ‘Monthly Volleyball’ that he and Kageyama chipped in to buy, a small smile unceremoniously creeping on his lips while doing so.

It takes about five whole minutes until Yacchan answers, practically shouting from the other line, _“Oh my god, Shou-kun! Are you going to confess?!?”_

The tips of his ears are starting warm and the smile on his face is getting wider. He shrugs, then realizing that it’s stupid because she can’t see him, he says as nonchalant as he can, “Well…”

Another piercing scream and this time Shouyou is prepared, extending his arm so far back from his ears, but still he could hear the earsplitting noises Yacchan is making.

_“Ohmigosh! Ohmigosh! Shou-kuuuun!”_

“Calm down, Yacchan. I didn’t say I will. I’m—,” he waves his hand vaguely, “I’m thinking about it.”

_“What made you changed your mind?”_

“I don’t know. I just, I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said, how I never considered that Kageyama might feel the same, and then it just kinda happened? Me considering, that is.” He rolls on his back and stares at the ceiling, the warmth has now spread throughout his entire face. “And you’re right, he does care about me.”

_“See? I told you so. He always has since first year, and you are too dense to see that. I’m right about that too.”_

“Yeah, yeah.”

_“Soooooo, are you going to do it?”_

Shouyou sits upright and places the magazine on the top shelf of his headboard. “I said I’m still thinking about it. I’m still not convinced that he likes me the same way. I need more—,” he scrunches his face as his brain tries to supply the right vocabulary, _ah_ , “confirmation.”

A sigh and then, _“Okay, hmm, how about you ask him if there’s anyone he likes? Then if he says yes, there’s your confirmation.”_

“How do I know he means me?”

_“Seriously, Shou-kun? He rejected every confession he ever got; don’t you think that means something?”_

“I don’t know?”

He could practically _hear_ the roll of Yacchan’s eyes. _“Gosh! I wish I’m in Miyagi right now so I can knock both of your heads together.”_

Shouyou laughs. “I miss you, too, Yacchan. Atleast you got to relax before our third year starts.”

_“Yeah, New York is pretty great. But how can I relax with that kind of development? This is so exciting! I bet by the time I get back, Kageyama-kun is already your boyfriend.”_

The subsiding blush on his face returns a hundred-fold, spreading throughout his entire body and he falls back on his bed, burrowing his face on the pillows. “Y-Ya-Yacchaaaan. D-don’t say that.”

Yacchan giggles. _“You’ll never know, and I’ve been consistently right so far.”_

Shouyou splutters again, and the mass of butterflies that he’s been harboring ever since he lets himself hope is fluttering fitfully inside his stomach. He knows this goes against what he’d promised himself not to do, but his innate optimism finally caught up with whatever has been holding him back. He’s still scared—maybe even more so now—and there’s still a big part of him that bothers him, telling him that this is not a good idea, that he’s clinging on false hope. But an even bigger, more persistent part of him is slowly overrunning it, letting him expect more and more, until the strings of his restraints are unraveling one by one.

They talk until his mom calls for dinner and the beating of the butterflies’ wings are still there even after he closes his eyes to sleep. He allows himself to finally release the fantasies hidden deep inside his subconscious, a smile on his face as he dreams.

 

* * *

 

Shouyou spends the entirety of his spring break with Kageyama, playing volleyball of course.  Now that they’re taking the helm as third years, they need to step up their game if they intend to take Karasuno to nationals for the third time in a row, and this time they’re going to win it (they placed as runner-up on the last Harukou, losing to Inarizaki in the finals).

He sees Kageyama almost every day, and when they’re not playing, they talk about nothing and everything, mostly about how they’re going to handle being the senpais and how their new team is going to be like. Shouyou is somewhat proud that Kageyama is more talkative now, he’s voicing his concerns with ease and not sulking and brooding when something bothers him like he used to, the walls Kageyama surrounded himself slowly crumbling down. Shouyou starts noticing it by the tail end of their second year, Kageyama opening himself to other people, maybe not on the same extent as with Shouyou, but he genuinely tries and even their initially scared kouhais can now approach Kageyama without hesitation. Even he and Tsukishima are kind of friends now, sure they still throw snarky remarks at each other, but it’s mostly constructive criticism and masked concern.

They even talk about stuff not concerning volleyball, like how Shouyou’s neighbor’s Akita-inu gave birth to five adorable pups and when Shouyou invites Kageyama to visit them, the dumb idiot looked excited as though Shouyou presented him a ‘Best Setter’ plaque. How Kageyama’s five-year-old cousin is a little devil incarnate and he pouts why can’t every little girl be as adorable as Natsu (“Gross, Kageyama, are you crushing on my baby sister?” “Shut up, dumbass!”). They talk about mundane things—from the failed katsudon Shouyou tried to cook to Kageyama’s uncle getting married next month.

What he didn’t expect is the closeness between him and Kageyama. It’s literally that—close, maybe too close for Shouyou’s comfort and doing absolutely nothing to the growing expectation in his chest. They sit too close to each other, shoulders bumping, knees touching, and Shouyou is trying so hard not to feel the pulsing warmth from every point of contact between them. Kageyama is now most definitely ruffling his hair after every head grabbing, or just doing so without any preamble and Shouyou would stare at him curiously then Kageyama will quickly retract his hand, looking like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t, his ears burning red. They high-five more often, usually after every successful attack and there were even times where Kageyama would be the one to initiate them, and it might be Shouyou’s hyperactive imagination, but the touch between their palms lingers maybe a second too long.

Kageyama touches him, like all the time, maybe a hand on his shoulder when he wants Shouyou’s attention or grabbing his wrist to veer him away from the road or to drag him wherever Kageyama wants to go. Shouyou never thought that Kageyama would be a touchy-feely person, but then again, he never saw Kageyama do those kinds of touches to other people. It’s quite the opposite—he always seems to keep a considerable distance when he interacts with other people. But when it comes to Shouyou, he has no trouble getting as close as possible and that most definitely isn’t helping to temper the urge to spill out the words that’s been stuck on his throat ever since that night on training camp.

It’s weird, but those touches are not what sets Shouyou on edge—it’s the covert glances Kageyama gives him when he thinks Shouyou doesn’t notice. Shouyou may get tunnel vision most of the time but he’s still a perfectly functional human being and his eyes are still working at 180° (he listens to some of his classes and that info is weirdly stuck on his mind) and he notices the way Kageyama is looking at him from the corners of his eyes. He could still feel it even when he has his back turned on him, like there’s a needle poking at his nape or a searing heat on the back of his head. When he turns to talk to Kageyama, he’s already looking at him and when their eyes meet, Kageyama would quickly avert his gaze, looking anywhere but at Shouyou’s face, a noticeable blush blooming across Kageyama’s cheeks. That should’ve been a dead giveaway, but still, Shouyou is at a predicament—should he or should he not?

The conspicuous amount of time they spend together has given him too many chances to confess but he’s still hesitating. He’s scared out of his mind, that maybe all of these are just his projections, illusions his mind conjures from too much repression of his feelings and when it finally broke, it made him crazy. Maybe he’s interpreting this the wrong way, seeing things that aren’t really there, actions that do not hold any other meaning. He needs more than subtle touches and stolen glances; he needs concrete proof. He needs confirmation.

 

* * *

 

The day he decided to go about his plan starts out perfectly. He wake up just in time with his alarm, his mom makes him tamago gohan for breakfast, and he feels energized more than usual, adrenaline pumping like he’s about to play a match. He texts Kageyama if he wants to hang out and his reply is instant, and an hour later, he’s knocking at Kageyama’s front door.

Even the weather is perfect, not too sunny nor too windy, the sweet scent of sakura blossoms filling the air and Shouyou’s mood is reaching new highs. He plays amazingly well, too, the power of his jumps are more _baaam_ , he zooms across the court like _pyuuun_ , he smacks the ball with force he didn’t even know he’s capable. All of his jump serves are down to the tee, every receives perfect, and most importantly, not one miss from Kageyama’s tosses, even the attacks they just started working on.

“You’re playing unusually good today,” Kageyama comments before taking a sip on his water bottle and Shouyou tries not to gawk at the way Kageyama’s lips latched onto the opening. He continues, “Considering you missed every damn toss for our new attack two days ago.”

Shouyou glowers at him before drinking from his own bottle. He wipes his mouth then retorts, “Can’t you just compliment me without adding an insult?”

Kageyama scoffs. “I’ll do that when you consistently play like you did today. And you’d better since youreofficiallytheacenow.”

The rest of Kageyama’s words were mumbled incomprehensibly and Shouyou have to tilt his head closer to Kageyama. “What was that?”

“N-nothing.”

Shouyou inches closer towards him. “You definitely said something.”

“Tsk. I said you’d better not suck since you’re officially the ace now. There, happy?”

Kageyama is now glaring at his sides, purposely avoiding Shouyou’s general direction, and it might be the afternoon light playing tricks on his eyes but he notices the dusting of pink on Kageyama’s cheeks.

There’s a loud  _thump thump thump_ inside Shouyou’s ribcage and the happiness he feels causes a wide grin to form involuntarily and he prances around Kageyama. “Oooooh! I’m the ace now, aren’t I? For real? I mean, I know I’ll be, but, wow, hearing you say that makes me super happy!”

He promptly freezes as soon as this brain caught up with what he just said. _Crap_ , the words just came out, he’s been too caught up with the moment and now Kageyama’s looking at him, brows knitted and there’s a glint in his eyes that Shouyou can’t explain.

Before he could identify what it is, the strange look on Kageyama’s face is gone, back to his default poker face. He breaks eye contact and turns, picks the ball and says over his shoulders, “Let’s work on our time-delayed attack again.”

Shouyou’s feet are rooted to the ground for a moment and only found the willpower to move when Kageyama calls him again. He quickly jogs over towards him, catching the ball Kageyama throws at him as Shouyou takes his position.

  
 

* * *

 

Shadows starts to darken and the chill in the air picks up when they finally decided to go home. Shouyou was entirely immersed on playing that he completely forgot his plan for that day, mentally cursing himself. They’re already a couple of blocks away from where Kageyama usually drops him off and Shouyou starts to panic, fidgeting as he wheels his bike unsteadily. His grip on the handlebars tightens and his heart is racing, he could hear it pounding in his ears, and he’s worried that Kageyama could also hear it. He risks a sideway glance and Kageyama is already looking at him, frowning.

“What’s wrong with you?”

He takes a deep breath. Now or never.

“There’s—there’s someone I like,” he admits, voice a little shaky. Scratch that, his whole body is practically trembling.

When Kageyama crumples his face in confusion, Shouyou adds, “You know, r-romantically.” He squeezes his eyes shut—even saying this much is enough to drown him in mortification, his cheeks starting to warm.

Both of them are silent for a moment before Kageyama breathes out, “Is that so?”

Shouyou slowly opens his eyes. “Yeah…” He peeks at Kageyama on the corner of his eyes—he’s staring straight ahead. None of them talk for a while, the slap of their sneakers on the pavement filling the silence.

“So, are you going to confess?” Kageyama’s even voice pierce through the quiet.

Shouyou tightened his hold on his handlebars, his pace slightly slowing down. “I—I don’t know. I think I might?”

The silence is deafening, even with the rustling of leaves and the clicking sound of his bike. Shouyou glances up at Kageyama but he couldn’t see his face, it’s like a shadow has suddenly shrouded him.

The air around them feels awkward and this is definitely not the atmosphere Shouyou is expecting. He laughs nervously. “I mean, I don’t know, it might be nice to date someone.” He looks back up again at Kageyama but his eyes are still trained in front, his expression still unreadable.

Eventually, Kageyama responds, “Hmmm. Just make sure that it won’t affect practice.”

Shouyou smirks. “What are you, my boss? Anyway, I don’t think it will.” _Not like you would allow me anyway_ , he adds mentally.

Kageyama just snorts and Shouyou is relieved that the weird ambiance earlier had somewhat dissipated.

But relief is quickly being overwhelmed by nervousness as he braces himself for the million-yen question. “How about you?”

“What about me?”

He stops walking, and Kageyama walks a few steps before he realizes that Shouyou is not following. Kageyama turns and finally looks at him face to face.

The moonlight splashes down it’s silvery glow, illuminating Kageyama’s face, making his features much sharper. His dark blue eyes look steely, piercing right at Shouyou’s brown ones.

Shouyou holds his gaze, as if staring into those azure eyes would keep him grounded. “Do you like someone?”

Kageyama’s answer is evident before he even opens his mouth. Eyes cold, lips pressed into a thin line—a look of absolute indifference, like a blank sheet of paper.

“No, I don’t.”

The wind carries the words, swirling around Shouyou before drifting into the night. His blood is pumping in his ears, but strangely enough, he feels calm. Maybe the more rational part of him was expecting this, tucking the shattered pieces of hope he stupidly allowed to nurture away from the pain he feels from the apparent rejection slammed into his face.

Shouyou smiles. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pro tip: Stop expecting :)
> 
> Told ya, all those fluff was a trap. 
> 
> I feel bad though.
> 
> (You can yell at me in the comments if you want)


	5. Nothing and Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yachi feels guilty
> 
> Hinata is a pure soul and can't hold a grudge
> 
> Kageyama is acting strange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little late than the scheduled update but here ya go. I'm a bit hesitant to post this, the pace feels a little disjointed to me, but this is the best I could whip out and I'm itching to update. I might revise this a little if I got time, but for now this is it. ╮(￣_￣)╭
> 
> Seriously, writing angst is wringing me dry like wth why did I do this to myself? But I promise to finish this, probably just 4-5 chapters more(?). Next chapter is still a poor excuse of a draft, it's basically a chicken scratch, but it would be the heaviest chapter yet, and probably the longest.
> 
> ***
> 
> More suffering incoming. And it's not just Hinata this time. (￢‿￢ )

Nothing seems different. Everything is exactly how it was before and Shouyou is surprised by how normal everything is. They still race each other, eat lunch together, argue and bicker, play volleyball until they drop—all the stupid, dumb things they do together is still the same. He really shouldn’t expect anything would change just because he was rejected—Kageyama isn’t even aware—and Shouyou is unexpectedly handling it well.

Maybe, not _that_ well. He was fine when they walked the rest of his way home that night, he even played with Natsu for a bit after dinner. But as soon as he closed his eyes to sleep, Kageyama’s words resonated inside his head—loud and reverberating, every syllable tearing a piece of his heart—and everything came crashing down, swallowing him in pain and regret. He’s a mess of emotions, but mostly he’s angry at himself, at his stupidity for allowing himself hope. He knew this would happen, that this is exactly what the end game would be, and yet he let himself be swayed by idle gestures and empty words. He’s bitter and angry—not at Kageyama, no—all the blame rests on him and ‘negative Shouyou’ is laughing at him, taunts of _‘I told you so’_ on repeat, rubbing salt at his gaping wound.

He cried himself to sleep the first few nights, curled up in a bundle in the darkness of his room. It was easier during the day, with Natsu and chores to distract him, but as soon as he’s alone, the tears would fall, slowly at first, tracing a warm streak down his cheeks until he couldn’t hold it in any longer, burying his face into his pillow, trying to muffle out his sobs and hiccups. He would wake up with wet sheets and tear-stained face, his eyes puffy, the only reason he could come up with when his mom asked was that he was up late watching volleyball videos.

Kageyama’s words hurt, but the look on his face as he said it was what finally brought Shouyou to tears. It was the look he saw the first time they met—closed off and apathetic. It’s as if the walls around Kageyama suddenly build themselves back up, brick by brick, shielding him from the vulnerability of Shouyou’s feelings, like the mere thought of someone like Kageyama could be bothered by something as insignificant as romance. It felt like Shouyou’s feelings are nothing more than a nuisance, so easily disregarded and forgotten.

And forgotten it was. Kageyama never mention anything about that night, he never questioned Shouyou further, it’s like it never happened and Shouyou wouldn’t have it any other way. He doesn’t know how to act if Kageyama probes on who exactly his crush is. If an unintended rejection hurt that much, he can’t even imagine how it would be if he’s directly rejected. More than that, he can’t ruin their current relationship when he was this close to doing just that when he tried to confess. Everything is hanging on a tightrope, with the both of them holding on each end, and if one of them lets go, it’ll go crashing down into the abyss, broken and irreparable. Shouyou is holding on tight and prays that Kageyama would do the same.

 

* * *

 

By the time the new school year starts, Shouyou is, more or less, better. He manages to greet Kageyama when they see each other at the gates, or races him more like, ignoring the tightening in his chest, focusing instead on pumping his legs to run faster. Volleyball is always a good distraction, and with the introduction of their new members, his excitement temporarily subdues the ache lingering inside. When he was named vice-captain, the happiness he feels somehow temper the cracks in his heart, soothing it, and as soon as they start practice, he momentarily forgets everything, directing all his attention in playing.

But the inevitability that is Yachi Hitoka is something Shouyou cannot control.

The change in Yacchan's expressions as Shouyou talks is both remarkable and a little bit alarming—it went from giddiness to confusion then finally settled to anger, her face contorted in the most furious look he has seen in her and Shouyou couldn’t help but feel touched at how his friend is reacting in his behalf. If looks could kill, Kageyama would probably be dead ten times over by how much Yacchan glared at him during practice the first few days of their new school year. She purposely avoids Kageyama, letting their new first year manager talk to him whenever she needs something and Kageyama noticed.

“Did I do something to piss Yachi-san?” Kageyama asks during one of their water break. “She’s avoiding me and she’s giving me a stink eye.”

Shouyou takes in the worried look on Kageyama’s face and a surge of guilt overcomes him. He knows how much Kageyama struggles to get people to accept him, to make friends, and the fact that Shouyou is the reason that Kageyama could potentially lose one of his close friends is making his stomach squirm, his heart shrinking.

He tries to sound reassuring as he responds, “I’m sure it’s nothing. I think it’s maybe, you know, that time of the month…” He blushes furiously, only now realizing how mortifying his words are. Of all the things to cover Yacchan, he had to say _that_.

Too late to take it back though, Kageyama is beet red from the neck up and he stutters, “O-oh. Okay. Umm…I thought I did something. It must be t-that.”

Now Shouyou is blushing for an entirely different reason—Kageyama looks adorable getting flustered like that and he had to mentally smack his head. He mumbles an excuse, he doesn’t even understand what he’s saying, leaving Kageyama confused, his cheeks still pink.

He makes his way to the sink, splashing cold water on his face, trying to soothe the heat when there’s a hand gently tapping on his shoulder. He twists the faucet off and turns, his face still dripping. Yacchan smiles and hands him a towel and he takes it, murmuring a thanks before wiping his face.

When he’s done, the smile is gone from Yacchan’s face, replaced by a frown. “Are you okay, Shou-kun? Did _Kageyama-kun_ say something to you again?”

He notices the edge in her voice as she says Kageyama’s name. He returns the towel and shakes his head. , “I'm fine, Yacchan. And no, he actually asked about you.”

She crosses her arms, her frown deepening. “What about?”

“He noticed how you’re avoiding him and he thought you hate him.”

“I do hate him,” she snaps, then adds, her voice gentler, “he hurt my best friend.”

Shouyou sighs. “No, you don’t.” He gently uncrosses her folded arms and took her hands into his. “You don’t have to get angry at him for my sake. He’s your friend, too and he’s worried that he did something for you to avoid him.  He might not look like it, but he cares about his friends and what they think of him.”

Yacchan’s expression softens and she nods. She’s eyeing their joined hands and gives it a little squeeze before letting go.

He smiles then continues, “And it’s not like he intentionally hurt me. It’s my fault anyway, letting myself hope.”

She jerks her head up and shakes her head forcefully. “N-no!” she screeches, a bit frantic. “If anything, it was my fault!”

“Y-Yacchan…you had nothing to do with it.”

Another vigorous shaking of her head. “If I hadn’t told you that he might like you back then you wouldn’t have expected something! If I hadn’t convinced you to confess t-then you wouldn’t get h-hurt. I—I was so sure! I really thought—I—I’m…”

She’s trembling now, on the verge of tears and Shouyou does the first thought that came to his mind. He pulled her close, enveloping her into an embrace.

Yacchan starts crying then, soaking Shouyou’s shirt with her tears but he doesn’t mind. For all those times that Yacchan reassured and comforted him, this is the best he could do to reciprocate. He gently rubs her back as her body shakes while she sobs.

She calms down after a while, still sniffling, but at least she looks better. Shouyou stills for a moment, allowing her to relax before he starts speaking, “It wasn’t your fault, Yacchan. I was the one who took the initiative, the one who got carried away from it all. And you’re right, this way I could give up on him. For real this time.”

Yacchan grips the front of his shirt and mumbles in his shoulders, “I-I guess I’m just angry at myself and was taking it out on Kageyama-kun.”

“Don’t. I don’t want my two best friends to get all sad and mopey because of me. You two mean a whole lot to me, even if the other one is a jerk who broke my heart and the other a stubborn nagger who acts like my mom.”

She giggles and the sound warms Shouyou’s chest, flooding it with relief. “He broke your heart but you still care about him. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“Damn right he doesn’t.”

They stand there, laughing and holding to each other, when he hears a loud crunch. Shouyou turns his head to the sound but no one is there, just a crumpled water bottle lying on the ground. Yacchan follows his stare. “What’s wrong, Shou-kun?”

He slowly releases his hold on Yacchan and shakes his head. “Nothing. Thought I heard something.” He trudges over the crushed bottle and throws it at a nearby bin. “Let’s go back, break should be over.”

Kageyama is nowhere to be seen when they enter the gym and he doesn’t show up until two minutes later, pointedly ignoring Shouyou the rest of practice.

He’s back to normal at lunch though; Kageyama is the first one to approach his seat and invites (demands) him that they eat lunch together (they share a class now, much to Shouyou’s annoyance). They trade food, as usual. They talk about their new team which turns to arguing, over what, Shouyou doesn’t remember—probably something stupid—, as usual. They toss a volleyball back and forth mindlessly, as usual.

Everything is the same as it was before.

 

* * *

 

Not everything is the same.

Shouyou wouldn’t have noticed it if he wasn’t hyperaware of everything Kageyama does but he notices how Kageyama avoids him. Not exactly ignoring him, but Kageyama almost never touches him unless it’s necessary, not like before, and even if he does, he would immediately retract his hand as if he’s burned and he would turn away, leaving Shouyou in a state of utter confusion (and hurt). The hair ruffling is gone, and now that Shouyou thinks about it, Kageyama hasn’t grabbed his hair since that night. He still calls him ‘dumbass’ and ‘idiot’ and smacks him, but it comes off all awkward, like he’s hesitating to hit Shouyou when on any other day he would do so without any qualms. Kageyama almost never look him in the eyes when he talks to him. If he would, it would only be for a millisecond then he would break eye contact, still looking at Shouyou, but not at his eyes.

The first thought Shouyou had is that Kageyama figured it out and he’s getting uncomfortable around him. But this is Kageyama he’s talking about, if he’s got any problems with Shouyou, he would outright say it to his face as he normally would. Or he would avoid him entirely, but they still spend every waking hour with each other, do the same things they’ve done for the past two years. That leaves the other option, the more obvious one—everything Shouyou thought as a sign was just something his mind conjures up, making him believe there was something there when in reality there wasn’t. Everything was all in his head, blurring his vision with rose-tinted filter and he was, in Kageyama’s words, a ‘dumbass’ to let himself fall into a false sense of assurance.

But what Shouyou doesn’t understand is the way Kageyama is closing off, putting up walls like they were first years all over again. He gets irritated more than usual and he snaps at the new first years whenever they make any mistakes, however little or trivial. Even Tsukishima and Yamaguchi are getting worried, the four of them had gotten closer over the years, and they know how much Kageyama had changed for the better. Seeing him descend back to his old _‘kingly’_ attitude is too much to bear and Shouyou couldn’t take it any longer.

“Why are you getting all irritated all of a sudden?” he demands bluntly. “You’re scaring our new teammates!”

Kageyama glares daggers at him and clicks his tongue. “I’m just making sure they won’t slack off. I’m not letting these amateurs ruin our chances in winning nationals.”

Shouyou is speechless for a second, his jaws hanging open. Then his blood boils, anger surging up and he pushes Kageyama hard on his chest, making him stumble backwards.

“Hinata—what the fuck?” Kageyama barks as he steadies himself.

He stalks up to Kageyama grabbing a fistful of his shirt, tilting his face up as far as he can, scowling at him. “Ask yourself that. What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?”

Kageyama is momentarily taken aback by Shouyou’s action and cursing, but he scowls back, and looms menacingly over him. “What are you getting angry for? You think you’re all that just because you’re the ace now? You think you can be distracted, getting all lovey-dovey with someone when you still _suck_?”

Shouyou takes a sharp intake of breath. Everything has gone quiet, he didn’t realize how loud they were getting and now everyone, except for Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, are staring at them. The first years look outright scared, the second years trying their best to console them—he vaguely heard Tamaki-kun reassuring them that this is all normal, they’re just arguing as usual.

Except this isn’t the usual. They argue and insult each other but never at the things that matter, the things that would actually hurt. But this—this is a low-blow. This is even worse than that fight back when they were first years. Every word from Kageyama is like a sharp spear piercing his gut, and Shouyou’s eyes are starting to sting, tears threatening to spill. He closes them as he releases his hold on Kageyama’s shirt, taking a step backward. He opens his eyes slowly, staring at his shoes, Kageyama’s own mere centimeters away from his. He doesn’t dare look back up; he doesn’t want to give Kageyama the satisfaction of seeing him vulnerable, how much he’s hurting hearing those words.

They could’ve been standing there all afternoon until Coach Ukai approached them, putting a hand on both of their shoulders roughly.

“Take it outside boys and don’t come in here until you settle everything out. And please, don’t get too rough, I need both of you in peak condition,” Coach Ukai commands, his voice firm and gruff.

They both murmur a joint _‘Yes, sir’_ under their breath and the coach gives them one last squeeze on their shoulders before nodding and pushing the both of them towards the door. Shouyou could feel the burning gazes from their teammates behind his back as he steps outside the gym, the coach’s booming voice the last thing he heard before the door is shut behind him.

The afternoon air is crisp, spring is still in full bloom and normally Shouyou would revel in the freshness and positivity it brings but today he resents it. He hates how everything can be perfect and normal and yet he feels completely, utterly miserable.

Both of them are turned away from each other. Shouyou is scuffing his shoes on the dirt, shuffling nervously. He didn’t really mean to snap at Kageyama like he did, he just wants to know what was wrong with him, but everything goes into chaos the moment the dumb jerk opens his mouth and Shouyou naturally got dragged along. Maybe on instinct, or maybe he finally lets out the bottled-up bitterness he didn’t knew he had. Maybe he didn’t actually want to know what was bothering Kageyama, maybe what he really wants to know is why, why can’t he—

“Hinata.”

He’s drawn out of his thoughts by Kageyama’s low voice, and he flinches, taking a stance, arms drawn up. “W-what? You wanna fight?”

Kageyama lets out an exasperated sigh. “No, dumbass. I—” He frowns then finally looks at Shouyou in the eyes. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.”

Shouyou slowly lowers his hands and returns Kageyama’s gaze. “You’re right, you know.”

Kageyama scrunches his face even harder, tilting his head slightly. Shouyou elaborates, “About getting distracted. But it won't happen again.”

Kageyama is still looking at him, befuddled. Shouyou drawled out a long breath through his mouth.

“I was rejected.” He feels weirdly at ease saying all this to the person he never thought he would have the courage to do so. “The person I like, they rejected me. You don’t have to worry about me getting distracted.” He manages a small smile. “Being rejected feels liberating in some way and all my focus is on volleyball right now. Not like it wasn’t before.”

Kageyama just stares at him, his features softening. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“D-do you want to talk about it?”

Shouyou eyes widen. Does he want to?

Maybe Kageyama notices the hesitation in Shouyous face, judging by the way he quickly averts his gaze, eyes lowering. “You don’t have to—”

“They’re not interested in romance,” Shouyou starts before he can think too much about it. “I asked them and they said no.” If he’s going to talk about it, he should at least sound vague. Kageyama may be an idiot, but he’s not that big of an idiot not to realize if Shouyou gives him enough details.

“So, you actually confessed?” Kageyama asks incredulously, eyes snapping back up.

Shouyou chuckles—half from amusement, half from the absurdity of the situation—as he lifts his face upwards, letting the afternoon sun spread on his face. “Yeah, something like that.”

It’s like a heavy weight is lifted off his chest and he feels light, calm. Almost serene. He didn’t realize how much emotional baggage he has, how much it’s weighing him down. He never thought talking with Kageyama of all people would bring him comfort—not even talking to Yacchan gave him this much consolation. It's weird, he knows, finding solace with the same person who gave him that despair in the first place. Or maybe it shouldn’t come off as a surprise at this point. It's been like this since the beginning anyway.

They’re silent for a while, the squeaks of shoes and the thuds of balls originating from the gym the only sound penetrating the air. He risks a sidelong glance at Kageyama. His eyes are casted on the ground and his brows are knitted together, like he’s thinking hard about something and it’s frustrating him. Or confusing him, Shouyou isn’t sure, he finds it hard to read Kageyama these days.

Shouyou starts, “I’m sorry, too, for coming on to you like that. I—” He halts, thankfully, in time. He clears his throat before continuing, “W-we—we’re just worried about you. You got all irritated and snappy more than usual and I—we—know you only get like that when something’s bothering you.”

Kageyama looks up at him, face still scrunched into a frown—he almost looks angry—and Shouyou is preparing himself to get yelled at but then Kageyama exhales heavily, almost like a resignation. “I-I guess I’m just on edge. It’s our last year and I just want our team to win.” He stares intently at Shouyou. “I want us to win.”

_Us_.

The way Kageyama says it sends a chill down his spine, spreading throughout his entire body. Shouyou knows he doesn’t mean it like that, he already established that, but the words still grip him, still affect him in a way that fills his chest with warmth, and it’s funny and sad at the same time, so he laughs and laughs until tears prick on his eyes.

Kageyama stares at him, confused, and he could see the annoyance slowly creeping on his features. “Oi, dumbass, what’s so funny?”

Shouyou tries to stifle his laugh behind his palms but the sound keeps on spilling and Kageyama frowns harder. He manages to reduce his laughs to giggles and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Of course, we’re going to win, Bakageyama.” Another giggle bursts out. He’s going crazy, isn’t he? “Us—the team, right? We’re going to kick butt at Interhigh this season. Oh, and at Harukou, too!” He finishes with a grin so wide his face might split.

Kageyama just blinks at him then he ducks his head, his fringe covering his eyes but Shouyou could see a glimpse of a small smile tugging on his lips. “Of course,” he repeats, barely a whisper. Then he turns, tilting his head towards the gym. “Let’s get going then. I don’t want to miss practice because of you.”

“Hey! It was your fault, too!”

“You were the one who came charging at me, idiot.”

“I didn’t have to if you weren’t acting like a jerk, jerk.”

“Whatever, dumbass.”

“Whatever, Bakageyama.”

“Shut up.”

Some things never change and Shouyou prays it never will. It’s the least he could hope for, given what he’s decided to do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this chapter isn't that good. I'm sorry if it wasn't up to par with your expectations, but then again, expectation hurts, just ask the poor, smol birb. 
> 
> Sorry, too soon? (my sense of humor is weird, i know, i know) ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	6. A Losing Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsukki knows what's up
> 
> Hinata slowly crumbles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey hey! First of all, I just want to thank everyone who's been reading and following this fic. I mean, wow, I never thought it'd be received this well ヽ(°〇°)ﾉ Your kind comments never fail to make me happy, and I feel excited everytime I get a notif in my inbox. And of course, those who left their kudos, thank you thank you! Seriously, you all make me so goddamn happy ٩(◕‿◕)۶
> 
> ***
> 
> The longest and most angst chapter yet! And another warning for a panic attack scene (my poor sunshine baby is so stressed in this i'm so sorry). If you have anxiety and could possibly trigger you, stop at "He collapses on his knees..." then start again at "He rolls on his back..." or wherever you feel comfortable.

“Ugh! Why can’t I get this right?”

“Because you’re an idiot.”

“Speak for yourself. You can’t even answer the first question!”

“You’re both idiots, so shut up and do the goddamn problem.”

They both turn towards Tsukishima, glaring, but he just stares blankly at them, stoic as ever. He gestures at the workbook in front of them before taking a bite on his sandwich. Yamaguchi shrugs, agreeing with his best friend. Of course, he does.

Shouyou shot another icy look at Tsukishima before returning his attention to his paper. Being a third year sucks. Every teacher is breathing down his neck, Ono-sensei most especially, threatening Shouyou at least three times a day that if his grades get any lower, she’ll expel him from the volleyball team.

He pores over the literature question for the tenth time and it still makes no sense, the kanji a jumbled mess. He peeks over at Kageyama on his side and judging by the way his brows knitted, his jaw twitching in frustration, he’s faring no better. He’s maybe doing even worse than Shouyou.

Without warning, Kageyama slams his fist hard on the table, startling the four of them—Shouyou instinctively draws his hands up, Tsukishima almost chokes on his sandwich, Yamaguchi and Yacchan yelps.

“This question doesn’t even make sense!” Kageyama complains, ignoring the faces of varying shock around him.

Shouyou lowers his hand from his stance to slap Kageyama on his back. “You scared the crap out of me! Jeez!”

Kageyama just clicks his tongue and flicks Shouyou’s hand away, scowling at him all the while. Shouyou blows him a raspberry, making it as obnoxious and disgusting as possible. Kageyama frowns even harder.

“Stop that,” Kageyama grumbles. 

Shouyou blows another. “Stop what?” he taunts, his tongue still peeking a little between his teeth.

“That—j-just—just get back to work, dumbass!” Kageyama practically roars and palms Shouyou's face away, but as soon as Kageyama touches him, Kageyama jerks his hand back immediately.

A flicker of eye-contact and Shouyou looks away the same time Kageyama does. Silence follows. He hears Tsukishima snicker behind his hand, Yamaguchi chastises him with a hushed ‘Tsukki’ as he peers awkwardly at their general direction.

“You can borrow my notes, Kageyama-kun,” Yacchan suggests, breaking the silence. She pulls out her notebook from her bag and hands it out to Kageyama.

Kageyama gingerly takes Yacchan’s notes. “Oh. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Yacchan glances at Shouyou and he gives her an appreciative smile. Yacchan smiles back and returns her attention to her own workbook.

“Hey, let me see Yacchan's notes, too!” Shouyou leans towards Kageyama, peeking at Yacchan's notebook spread in front of him.

Kageyama covers the notes with both of his hands, shielding it from Shouyou's prying eyes. “No! I borrowed it first! Wait for your turn!”

“Stingyama!”

“Idiot!”

“You're the idiot!”

“Why did I agree to spend my precious lunchtime with these two morons.”

“Now, now Tsukki.”

The rest of their recess continue as usual. This is Shouyou's typical lunch break for two weeks now,  eating with his friends and finding time to study in between, Yacchan helping them like she always does, along with Yamaguchi and Tsukishima, the latter appearing hesitant and disinterested in helping them, but they all know he’s actually concerned. Though it also helps that as captain, Yamaguchi wheedled Tsukishima to tutor them—they can’t afford to lose both their setter and ace (yes, Shouyou is still on cloud nine about that fact).

Shouyou is somewhat relieved by this new setup. This way, he spends less of his time alone with Kageyama, making it so much easier to finally sort out his feelings, slowly snuffing out its flames. He’s back on his initial plan of keeping a considerable distance from him and this is definitely working on his favor.

Although, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t admit that he kind of misses their little lunch routine, the comfortable silence as they eat, even the nonsensical bickering. Technically, he’s still spending lunch with him, but it’s different—special—when it was just the two of them. Sure, he enjoys the company of his other friends, even Tsukishima, but the feeling is just not the same.

He mentally slaps himself. He has to do this. Nothing, _absolutely nothing_ , could derail him from his resolve. All the strings of expectations and hope had been detached, there’s nothing holding him back this time. And he’s just getting started.

The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch. Shouyou gathers his things hurriedly and with a quick goodbye, runs towards the school building, ignoring Kageyama calling his name.

 

* * *

 

It gets easier from there. He can now decline Kageyama’s offer for a sleepover, making excuses and lies so naturally, even he’s surprised at himself. The first few times he said no, Kageyama would look at him funny, pestering him with questions, clearly unconvinced, but in time, he would just nod in assent, not even bothering to ask why. He still comes over his house once in a while and only if it is absolutely necessary, like the times when practice took longer than usual and it’s too dark for him to ride up the mountain and all the buses had gone.

They still race in the morning, but not every day like they used to. Maybe twice or thrice a week. Shouyou realized his mistake the first time he attempted this; he was being obvious. This time, he schedules which day he’s going to be late, but not too late to warrant another suspicion. He’ll come in early for two days, then a little late the next. Sometimes, he arrives way too early, opening the gym to start cleaning and when Kageyama appears on the gym doors ten minutes later, huffing and yelling at Shouyou that arriving early doesn’t count as a win, he would just laugh, saying _‘it totally does, Bakageyama,’_ ignoring the way his heart stops then speeds up erratically the moment he sees Kageyama.

And it works. Kageyama doesn’t question him like he did last time and Shouyou is sighing in relief. His plan is going so well, too well, and he’s pleased that his efforts are not being wasted. Operation: _Get Over My Feelings for Kageyama Tobio_ is going smoothly.

Except he’s lying.

The distance he’s keeping between them only makes Shouyou miss him more. He sees him every day, they talk (argue), practice, go home together, but he could feel the space slowly getting wider and he can’t ignore the loneliness he feels. Kageyama is right there and he misses him.

He misses their lunch breaks, just the two of them, sharing food like they used to. He misses their random sleepovers under the guise of studying which would ultimately turn into movie marathons or playing video games or watch volleyball videos. He misses the times where he got to see a different expression on Kageyama other than his usual grumpy face—the way his eyes widen and quiver when he’s scared or nervous, the way he hunched his shoulders, his lips wobbling when he tried not to burst out laughing but eventually failed in the end, the way his face lit up as he watched a particularly amazing play, whopping out an unexpected cheer. It’s only now that Shouyou realizes how intimate it felt, getting to see another side of Kageyama that nobody can, little moments where Shouyou felt closer to him than anybody else.

He wants things between them to stay the same but he wants to keep his distance to be able to give up on his stupid one-sided love. See how contradicting and selfish that is? He knows he can’t have one without sacrificing the other, and after much contemplation and a lot of sleepless, fitful nights, he chose the latter.

How did Shouyou manage back then? It used to be so much easier, being friends with Kageyama all the while feeling more than what is acceptable, without sacrificing their closeness. His feelings used to be in the background, he knows it’s there, hovering and just plain existing, but he was still able to rein it in, act like everything is normal and not give in. But something changed the moment Shouyou released the harness, allowing his stupid optimism to take control, hope seeping in, disintegrating every last bit of barriers guarding his feelings. And look at where that took him. All his previously tightly bounded feelings are threatening to spill, filled to the brim and he’s scared—no— _terrified_ that the slightest nudge would set him off, the dam breaking, along with his friendship with Kageyama.

So, he’ll keep his distance. For now. He’ll gradually fill the space, close the figurative gap, as soon as his dam of feelings have all dried up. Pretty simple, right?

 _Wrong_.

The whole falling out of love thing? Yeah, he’s making absolutely no progress in that area.

He tries. He really, really does. Desperately. Greatly. Frustratingly. But he is in too deep, down to the very core. It’s like he’s trapped and Kageyama has the keys to the freaking kingdom. Makes sense, he’s a king, in more ways than one as far as Shouyou is concerned.

He wasn’t lying when he said that being rejected feels liberating. It is—it’s what gave him the resolve to do what he has decided to do. But it doesn’t mean that it would be easy. Having to completely give up on something is entirely new to him, it goes against what makes him, well, _him_. He’s used to people underestimating him, disregarding him, but that didn’t stop him to aim for his goals; if anything, it only makes him strive for it more, to show them that they’re wrong.

But this—this is completely different. He has no reason to fight for it, he doesn’t know if he even wants to try. He can’t shove his feelings to Kageyama just because he wants to—he’s not that selfish. He doesn’t know either how to make Kageyama reciprocate his feelings, even he doesn’t understand how his own feelings started in the first place. And if by some fate or destiny or any other bullshit dictates that Kageyama feels the same, wouldn’t he know by now? Kageyama wouldn’t have any problem blurting the words out, he wouldn’t be punishing himself by bottling up his feelings like Shouyou does. Because Kageyama is a confident jerk, so sure of himself that even the prospect of rejection won’t frazzle him, not that anyone could ever reject Kageyama. If those were the circumstances, they would be walking off the sunset, living happily ever after. The end.

But that’s not the case. They’re just not meant together in that regard. Partners on court, maybe, but nothing more beyond that. And here he is, putting more distance between them, adding strain to the relationship they worked so hard to build. He just had to do the most blasphemous thing he could’ve done, he just had to fall in love with his best friend and ruin everything.

Still, Shouyou continues his charade, acting like everything is normal, trying so hard not to spend too much time with Kageyama, subtly avoiding him as much as possible, even if it pains him. There are even times though that he questions himself, is this really the best route to take? Because being with and avoiding Kageyama leaves the same wounds, bears the same scars. It hurts being close to him, to be alone with him, but at the same time, he’s a mess without him, it’s like his body instinctively looks for him, full of longing. He’s fighting a futile battle that no matter what he does, he comes out the loser.

 

* * *

 

Shouyou approaches their lunch table only to find Tsukishima sitting there all alone, his headphones over his ears while he reads his history book.

“Where’s Yamaguchi and Yacchan?” Shouyou asks as he takes a seat, dropping his books on the table. Tsukishima glances up, face blank, but he pulls his headphones from his ears, letting it rest around his neck.

“They’re on class duty today,” Tsukishima blandly responds, returning his attention to his book, then he adds without looking up, “where’s _his majesty_?”

Shouyou unwraps his bento. “He’s on duty, too.”

Tsukishima just hums in response. They both fall silent—Shouyou quietly eating his lunch (or as quiet as he can, he’s been told he’s messy and loud while eating) while Tsukishima continues reading. He finishes quickly, then he opens his own history book, flipping through the page he needs to work on.

He glances back up at Tsukishima. He’s resting his cheek on one hand, reading through his book with mild interest. His headphones are still on his neck—an invitation that he’s willing to have a conversation. Shouyou takes his chance.

“So, Tsukishima…”

“If you’re asking about the essay regarding the Edo period, I’m not helping you,” Tsukishima says dead-pan, eyes not leaving his book.

“That’s not what I’m going to ask.”

“I’m not helping you with the math homework either.”

“That’s not it!” Shouyou shrieks, startling a few students near their table.

Tsukishima finally looks up, frowning. “Then what?”

Shouyou squirms, his courage waning. He fiddles with the edges of his book, curling the pages with his fingers, creasing it further.

Tsukishima sighs. He takes a hold of his headphones, about to put it over his ears when Shouyou blurts the words out, mushing the words together.

“Howdoyougiveuponsomeone?”

“Huh? Speak clearly, midget.”

Shouyou clears his throat, then he says again, emphasizing each word this time, “How. Do. You. Give. Up. On. Someone.”

Tsukishima quirks his brows at him, his hand still holding his headphones over his head then he releases them, resting it once again on his neck. Good, he’s taken his interest, which is a hard feat to accomplish even after becoming sort-of friends with Tsukishima.

“Why?” he asks blankly, but Shouyou could tell a hint of curiosity, although he’s a bit confused by his answer. Or question (leave it to Tsukishima to answer a question with another question).

“Just answer the question, Tsukishima.”

“Answer me first,” he insists, leaning forward towards Shouyou. “Why?”

Shouyou glares at Tsukishima’s smug face but he resigns, “Because it’s hopeless.” He grips his book tightly, practically crumpling it.

His friend raises his brows, disappearing in his short fringe, evidently surprised by his declaration. But his expression quickly returns to the mock amusement Shouyou is well aware of.

“Huh. Are you sure?” he drawls, lacing his fingers together to lean his head against it, peering right through Shouyou’s eyes.

Now it’s Shouyou’s turn to raise his brows. “Of course, I’m sure. I wouldn’t be asking you if I wasn’t,” he retorts, exasperated.

Tsukishima rolls his eyes behind his stupid glasses. “What makes you think it’s hopeless then?”

“Because I got rejected.”

For the second time that day, Tsukishima is taken aback, his eyes going wide. He’s speechless for a while and Shouyou is slightly concerned that he broke him or something. He’s surprised too, he didn’t think he’ll elicit this kind of reaction from Tsukishima; he’s prepared for the mockery and taunting, being the giant asshole his teammate is, but definitely not this—too shocked that even his usually snarky mouth fails him.

Eventually, Tsukishima wakes up from his stupor. “You got rejected,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

“Uh. Yes?”

“Elaborate.”

Shouyou tilts his head in confusion. “Why?”

“Just tell me.” Tsukishima's expression hardens, eyes narrowing. “Tell me everything.”

It must be the way Tsukishima stares at him so intensely or how compelling his voice is, either way, Shouyou tells him—where it starts (from what he can surmise), what pushes him to sort-of confess, leading up to the moment where he got rejected (apparently). He tells him everything, except the part of who exactly he’s talking about.

Tsukishima just listens, not that Shouyou allowed any moment for him to interject though, his mouth is running a mile per minute, words tumbling out. It feels good, releasing all of this from his system, even if a part of him is hesitant to say all of this to Tsukishima, but he trusts him, unexpectedly.

When he finished, he pants, like he just ran a marathon. He glances at Tsukishima—his face is blank, but the tiniest knot is forming between his brows.

“So,” Tsukishima starts, “Let me get this straight. You told them you like someone then asked them if they liked someone, then they said no, so you think you were rejected.”

“I don’t _think_ I got rejected. I _was_ rejected.”

Tsukishima burst out laughing. Now this is the reaction Shouyou is expecting. But that doesn’t mean that he won’t be affronted by it.

“Oi. You haven’t answered my question yet, Stingyshima!”

Tsukishima just laughs even harder and makes a big show of it by clutching his stomach. Nearby students stare at them, some worried or scared, others annoyed. Shouyou stands then, leaning forward to smack Tsukishima on his shoulders repeatedly.

“Stop laughing, you jerk!”

Tsukishima finally stops his fit, wiping the corner of his eyes with his long fingers. He chuckles a final time then exhales, amused. Shouyou eases back to his seat, crossing his arms.

“You can stand to be more sympathetic, asshole,”

Tsukishima shakes his head jeeringly. “God, that was the single most hilarious thing I’ve ever heard,” he sniggers, another peal of laughter threatening to spill from his mouth.

“I swear, Tsukishima, I will punch you if you laugh again.”

He raises his hand up in mock surrender, a smug smile still on his face. Shouyou just rolls his eyes.

“So? Are you gonna tell me how to move on or are you gonna keep making fun of me like the jerk you are?”

Tsukishima’s smile falters but his eyes still hold a glint of amusement. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Stop answering my questions with questions!” 

“Fine.” Tsukishima taps his chin, whether he’s still taunting Shouyou or he’s genuinely thinking about it, Shouyou doesn’t care anymore. He’ll take any answer he’s given, no matter how absurd or sarcastic it might be, he just needs something to steer him—that’s how lost he feels.

“How about—,” Tsukishima starts and Shouyou snaps to attention, edging closer to Tsukishima.

The words out of Tsukishima's mouth are not quite registering in his brain, the syllables a warbled mess in his ears. So he asks again.

Tsukishima lets out an exaggerated sigh, giving him a look that screams _'What an idiot'_ , but he obliges nonetheless.

“I’m sure it won’t be too hard for you, given how annoyingly friendly you are,” he says with finality, as if that would somehow validate his point. It doesn't.

Shouyou just blinks, perplexed. He’s about to open his mouth, a question forming in his throat, but at that moment, the bell rings, and his thoughts are lost in the sound.

Tsukishima stands, grabbing his book with him. But before he walks away, he takes a final look at Shouyou, his gaze somehow tempered. He almost looks…concerned.

“If you want my real advice, listen carefully.” Tsukishima props his arm on the table and looms over Shouyou. He leans back instinctively. “Stop being stupid for once and tell Kageyama how you feel. Not in a roundabout bullshit way. Direct and to the point.”

“Guh?” Is the only sound he’s able to form at the moment. What Tsukishima just said and what he suggested a minute ago are completely at odds and contradictory and this is making no sense at all, and _what the actual fuck?_

He’s still trying to make his tongue work but then Tsukishima stands straight and he smirks.

“You’re both idiots but I guess you’re the lesser idiot in this regard, with how emotionally constipated _his majesty_ is, so it has to be you. And as entertaining as it is seeing you two suffer—” Tsukishima’s amused tone suddenly shifts, becoming cold and reproachful, “—it’s starting to take a toll on the team, so man the fuck up and do everyone a favor and confess properly.”

Shouyou is just staring up at him, jaw-slacked. It takes a while but he finally gains control of his body, and thankfully, his voice. He stands abruptly, slamming his palms on the table and shrieks, “What the _hell_ , Tsukishima? Wha—Why would?—Confe— _What?_ —Huh?” Okay, maybe his brain is still short-circuiting and still couldn’t keep up with the bubble of words he’s trying to spat at Tsukishima’s conceited face.

The blonde bastard starts to walk towards the school building but he stops and says over his shoulders, “Oh, and by the way, you’re not as subtle as you think you are. I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who knows or Yachi-san for that matter.”

Tsukishima’s laughter still rings on Shouyou’s ears as he sinks back down on his seat.

 

* * *

 

Shouyou’s conversation with Tsukishima is still reeling inside his head even after a week. It’s not exactly all he’s thinking about, but it would pop randomly in his thoughts, Tsukishima’s smug voice echoing inside his head.

He tries to make sense of the suggestion. It isn’t entirely bad, it just makes him uncomfortable in a way he can’t explain, like a hundred spiders just crawled up all over his body, making him feel itchy and prickly. The idea of it unnerves him, like the mere concept of it is wrong in some way. Which is just plain stupid, he reprimands himself quickly. _Liking_ Kageyama is _wrong_ , being in love with him is the stupidest idea out of the stupidest things Shouyou had done (and there’s a lot, if he’s being honest), and he shouldn’t feel upset about it and—

His train of thought vanishes when his phone starts ringing. He searches for it under the pile of books and papers scattered on his desk, finally finding it wedged between his history and math workbook. He flips his phone open.

Speak of the _literal_ devil.

“Kageyama?”

 _“What page is the math homework again?”_ Kageyama asks in a rush, like he’s been waiting to say that to Shouyou.

“Well, hello to you, too.”

_“Shut up and answer me, dumbass.”_

Shouyou reaches for his math workbook and flips through the marked pages. “Uh…pages 67-70, then at 73-75.”

He hears a loud groan on the other end that sends shivers up his spine. This isn’t the first time they hold a conversation over the phone but hearing Kageyama’s deep rumbling noise so close to his ear is a bit disconcerting. He stands from his chair, trying to settle his nerves. What is _wrong_ with him?

The other line is silent except the rustling of paper and then, “ _This many? How am I supposed to finish this in one day?”_

Hearing Kageyama annoyed and practically whining somehow calms the weird feeling he’s having. “You should’ve done it first, Bakageyama. Seems like I win this time.”

_“Tsk. I would’ve if I know what page it was.”_

Shouyou makes his way to his bed and sits on the edge. “Why didn’t you, anyway? Masami-sensei wrote it on the board.”

 _“I was…distracted.”_ He hears the slight hesitation on Kageyama’s voice.

“And you tell me I have attention issues.”

_“Stop gloating, dumbass. For all I know, you asked someone for help.”_

Shouyou splutters. “W-well, I might’ve asked Yacchan for help in some problems…” He suddenly feels defensive. “What’s wrong with asking for help? You just asked for mine five minutes ago, you jerk!”

He’s expecting a bout of expletives, a shout of _‘shut up’_ , or an angry retort. Instead, he’s answered with a resounding silence. For a minute, he thought Kageyama hang up on him but the call is still going and then he hears a muffled sigh.

“You still there, Kageyama?”

 _“Yeah,”_ Kageyama answers flatly. Shouyou frowns at the sudden shift in Kageyama’s tone. Is he that bummed about not finishing the math homework?

“Aww, don’t get all sad, Mopeyama-kun. I could take a picture of the answers and I could e-mail it—”

_“Come over.”_

“Huh?”

 _“Come over. Now.”_ Kageyama’s tone is demanding and insistent, making it very clear that it’s not a request—it’s an order.

Which is why Shouyou swallows thickly, gripping his bed sheets tightly as he forces the words out, “I-I can’t.”

_“Why?”_

“B-because…” Shouyou stutters, frantically trying to come up with an alibi. “I-I have to…”

_Think think think!_

“Babysit Natsu!” he practically shouts, trying to mask the nervous quivering of his voice. “Yep! My mom has some errands to run later so…”

The other line goes silent again, and then in a small voice that sounds absolutely nothing like Kageyama,

_“You always have an excuse, don’t you?”_

“Kage—”

 _“Fine. I get it,”_ Kageyama snaps, making Shouyou flinch. _“You don’t have time…”_  The rest of Kageyama’s words trails, too faint and disembodied for Shouyou to hear.

He’s gripping his phone so tight he might snap it in half. He’s warring with himself, a piece of him wants to come over, it’s been almost two weeks since they’ve hung out together and he misses him. So bad.

But the more rational part of him holds him back, reminding him that this has to be done, that this is the right thing to do. He needs to do this for himself, for Kageyama, to protect themselves from the monstrosity that is Shouyou’s feelings.

“Sorry, I—.”

_“Don’t be. I’m used to it anyway.”_

Shouyou stills, struggling to find words to say, but then he hears a click and the line goes dead.

He falls sideways on his bed, his phone clattering on the floor, the disconnected tone still beeping. A lone warm tear traces down his cheeks, and just like that the floodgates open. He cries, tears now streaming like waterfall, loud, heaving sobs tearing from his throat, echoing through the empty house.

He feels so lonely.

When will _he_ get used to it?

 

* * *

 

Shouyou sends Kageyama the answers later that night and when he receives a short _‘Thanks’_ as a reply, he smiles, relieved. At least Kageyama is not too pissed at Shouyou for refusing to come over, although he can’t be that much help either even if he did, so Kageyama wouldn’t have any reasons to get upset in the first place, definitely _not_ with the same reasons as Shouyou’s.

When they see each other at school, things are pretty much normal. Not that Shouyou would expect anything would be different, it’s just a math homework as far as Kageyama is concerned. And he’d better be grateful, they got over a half of the problems right, even the ones Yacchan didn’t help him with.

“Here,” Kageyama says, handing Shouyou a strawberry yogurt from the vending machine.

Shouyou takes it tentatively. “What’s this?”

Kageyama rolls his eyes as he pushes the button for his own drink. “A yogurt, duh.”

“I know that! I mean, what’s this for?”

“For sending me the answers,” Kageyama mumbles, bending over to retrieve his drink from the machine.

Shouyou beams. “Oh! Is this your way of thanking me, Kageyama-kun?”

Kageyama’s brows snap together, scowling at Shouyou as he punches his milk box with more force than required. “Shut up, dumbass.”

Shouyou just laughs in response as they head towards their lunch spot—their friends should be there by now. He didn’t get to take more than five steps when he suddenly jolts in place, startling Kageyama in the process.

“Crap! I forgot! Masami-sensei asked me to take the handouts from the faculty room!” He turns and waves at Kageyama as he starts to run back towards the school building. “Go on ahead without me. I’ll catch up later!”

Shouyou ran at full speed, dodging his fellow students as he sprints past them. And if he vaguely hears a voice calling up to him, he chooses to take no notice of it.

 

* * *

 

Masami-sensei’s errands took longer than Shouyou anticipated and he’s running a little late for their lunch study. He’s about to turn the corner to their usual table when he hears someone call his name, voice so soft and faint he almost thought it was the wind.

“H-Hinata-kun.”

He pauses and pivots towards the sound. It’s a girl, from another year perhaps, he never saw her before (and he’s friends with almost everyone in their year). She has her head hung low, her hands twisting her blazer.

Maybe she’s lost and she wants to ask for directions. But she called him by name, meaning she intends to talk specifically at him. No girl approached him before, except maybe his friends, but he doesn’t even know this girl and yet she knows his name.

He takes a tentative step forward. “Uhh…yes?”

She whips her head up. Icy blue eyes gaze back at Shouyou. Her cheeks are tinted pink, as well as the tips of her ears. Her lips are trembling, opening and parting slightly like she’s struggling what to say.

Cute. This girl is pretty and cute and she’s talking to Shouyou.

“Uhmm…M-my name’s Minori.” She extends her shaky hands. “Kaori Minori.”

Being around Shimizu-senpai for an entire year had somehow tempered Shouyou’s nervous disposition towards pretty girls and he can now, more or less, interact with one naturally without becoming a blushing, stammering mess.

Shouyou smiles and takes her hands into a firm handshake. It’s cold and definitely trembling but he only tightens his hold. “Oh! Nice to meet you, Kaori-san! I’m Hinata Shouyou!”

If her cheeks were pink before, they’re cherry red now. “I-I know.” She ducks her head on her chin, her shoulders hunching up.

He slowly releases his hold. She doesn’t pull back her hands, still hanging awkwardly in front then quickly whips it on her back.

The smile on his face falters a little as he waits for her to speak again. She just stands there though, fidgeting alternately with her hair and the hem of her blazer.

Cute.

Shouyou suddenly remembers where he’s supposed to be going and with one last smile, he waves at her. “Nice to meet you again, Kaori-san! So, see you around?” He starts to turn when there’s a hand gripping his sleeves.

“Uh…can we talk for a bit? I-I have something to tell you,” she says shyly, looking at Shouyou through her long lashes, face still red.

He’s never this close to a girl before (except Yacchan) and he could feel his own face starting to heat up. He stammers, “O-oh. Okay.”

Kaori-san lets go of his sleeves and takes a small step backward. “I-I saw you on TV playing volleyball and—and I watch your practices…sometimes.” She still has her eyes cast downwards, occasionally glancing up at Shouyou as she speaks.

“And I-I think you’re really cool and c-cute.” She looks square at Shouyou, eyes earnest. “And I-I like you, Hinata-kun.”

Shouyou blinks at her, his jaw slightly opening. He must’ve heard her wrong, no way did this pretty girl just said what he thinks she said. He's either going insane or just extremely starving for him to be having these delusions.

“W-what?”

“I like you! Please go out with me!” she repeats, louder this time and yup, he's not becoming deaf or crazy. This is happening.

In all of his short years in this world, nothing could have prepared him for this moment. Mostly because he never thought this would ever happen. Sure, he fantasized about it, talked about it with his classmates, but it’ll always be just a concept, not something he considers he’ll get to experience, the one who’d be on the receiving end.

Tsukishima’s annoying monotonous voice whispers inside his head. Over and over. Like a broken record.

_‘Find someone else.’_

Here’s a chance, a chance to finally get over his feelings for Kageyama. Maybe the universe has taken pity on him, presenting him this opportunity to finally be released from the bounds of unrequited love.

He takes a proper look at Kaori-san. She’s smaller than him, maybe a couple of centimeters shorter. Her black hair is cut short, curling around her chin. And those eyes, they’re the lightest of blue he’s ever seen, they were almost translucent. She’s pretty, _really_ pretty, and no guy in their right mind would even consider rejecting her.

He tries to imagine being with her, going on dates, holding her hands. She would smile at him, and he would smile back. She would rest her head against his shoulders, his arms wrapping around her own. She would visit him during practices, maybe fill his water bottle for him or bring him towels. He imagines her cheering on the stands during matches, shouting his name.

They could spend their lunch together on the grass where other couples hang out. He could trade lunch with her, just like how he did with Kageyama. Does she like pickles? Is her curry filled with carrots? They would study together, help each other with their homework, like how Kageyama helps him with his math and him helping Kageyama with history. She seems smart enough. They could hang out and talk about volleyball, how the new national team looks promising and wondering how long it’ll take for them to—

It hits him hard and abrupt, it’s a surprise he hasn’t doubled over by the sudden realization. He can’t. He _can’t_. Because no matter how hard he tries, no matter how perfect every scenario in his mind is, no matter how much he forces himself to be with this girl, if he has to project his feelings he have for Kageyama just to feel some semblance of affection, then he won’t just be hurting himself, he’ll hurt this girl who actually likes him. He’d be nothing more than a player, toying with others feelings, and he’s _done_. He’s done dragging other people into his misery, adding guilt into the plethora of emotions he’s been bottling all up.

So he bows, arms stiff on his side, mumbling out his apology as sincere as he can, “I-I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

When he straightens up, Kaori-san’s crestfallen face greets him. He’s about to apologize again but she smiles and tells him it’s okay, they can be friends instead. She bows back and murmurs her excuse to leave, looking extremely embarrassed despite the smile plastered on her face as she gives a little wave before rounding the corner.

Shouyou is left standing there, still staring at the space where Kaori-san had been, for hours or just mere seconds, he doesn’t know anymore. When his limbs unfreeze, he runs, not really caring where he’s heading. He finds himself at the junction between two buildings, a dark secluded area he doesn’t even know exists in all his years in Karasuno.

He collapses on his knees. It’s too overwhelming, the cracks in his dam of feelings getting bigger and bigger, emotions spilling, threatening to rush out all at once. He’s struggling to breathe; his chest feels tight and heavy like it’s already filled and he’s drowning, suffocating. Hurting. He takes short gasps, slowly, measuredly until he could feel his lungs fill with air.  He squeezes his eyes tight, trying to calm the surge of emotions welling up, forcing himself not to let anything spill. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding as he desperately tries to seal away everything back inside.

_Breathe, Shouyou, breathe._

He rolls on his back and stares at the clear sky, squinting slightly. He feels his phone vibrate in his pocket, but he ignores it. The yogurt in his other pocket is still cold. He suddenly feels tired, exhaustion filling his limbs, his eyelids becoming heavy. When he closes his eyes, he descends into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooot. They're so stupid, I know.
> 
> My beautiful salty crow appears! (≧◡≦) I loved writing Tsukki, mostly because he's like me personality-wise (a snarky lil shit) so he's basically just me in this chapter, laughing at their idiocy. Will this be the only time he'll appear? We'll see ┐(︶▽︶)┌


	7. Phantasmagoria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hinata is good at being stubborn
> 
> Kageyama is bad at expressing himself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phan·tas·ma·go·ri·a (n)  
> /ˌfanˌtazməˈɡôrēə/  
> a sequence of real or imaginary images like those seen in a dream.
> 
> ***
> 
> The suffering continues! This is probably angst-er than the last chapter but there's a little bit of fluff in there.
> 
> Honestly, I didn't mean for this fic to be this long, but as usual, I got a little bit carried away and I had, more or less, deviated from my original draft for this. Nonetheless, the conclusion is going to be pretty much the same. And yeah, this will definitely have a happy ending but it'll take a while, they're idiots after all.

“Shou—”

“Shou-kun—”

“Hinata Shouyou, wake up!”

He rubs his cheek as he clumsily tries to sit. His eyes are struggling to open, and when they finally did, his vision is bleary and all he sees is a yellow blob in front of him. He blinks rapidly, trying to fix his focus, and Yacchan’s anxious face is the first thing he sees.

“Y-Yacchan?”

“What the heck, Shou-kun! Why are you sleeping here?” she screeches. He winces, holding his head between his hands.

“Don’t shout. My head hurts.”

“Sorry.”

He lowers his hands to his face and winces again when he grazes his cheek. “Did you slap me?” His voice is still raspy, making it sound low and gruff. He clears his throat.

Yacchan looks scared for a moment then she pouts. “You wouldn’t wake up.”

He gingerly rubs his stinging cheek. “Didn’t realize I slept.” He looks up at the sky, reds and oranges painting the clouds. He’s still feeling a little bit woozy. “What time is it?”

“A little over five o’clock.”

At that, his consciousness snaps back. “W-what? I was asleep the whole afternoon?”

Yacchan eyes him worriedly. “You tell me.” She inches closer to him. “What happened?”

“Let’s get to practice.” He starts to stand but Yacchan yanks him back down.

“We don’t have practice today, remember?”

Shouyou breathes a sigh, relieved. He actually forgot about it, his mind is still a bit rattled with the events during lunch and truthfully, he’s still feeling a bit lethargic despite the fact that he slept the whole afternoon. And skipped class. He may not be a star student but never in his life did he cut classes, albeit unintentionally.

Yacchan settles beside him, worry still etched in her face. “What happened?” she asks again, voice gentle as if coaxing a small, frightened animal. He might as well be.

He pulls his knees up and rests his arms over them, letting his hands dangle in front. “Why are you not home yet? Classes ended about an hour ago.”

“We were looking for you! Kageyama-kun said you had some errands to run but you didn’t show up for lunch! Then during afternoon break he told us you skipped class, too,” she frets, voice hitching as she speaks. “He looked so angry.”

Shouyou snorts. “Yeah, I bet he was. I caused trouble for everyone.”

“I don’t think it’s that. He was worried.”

“Yeah, worried that I’m slacking off in studying which could get in the way of volleyball if I fail,” he argues, not even bothering to hide the acrid tone in his voice.

“That’s not—” Yachan starts, then she shakes her head as she sighs heavily. “Just tell me what happened.” She smiles timidly, eyes pleading. “Please?”

“I got confessed to.”

Yacchan’s eyes goes comically wide, her hands covering her mouth as she gasps. “Oh…my god.”

Shouyou laughs at her reaction. “I was surprised, too. Who would’ve thought, right?”

“I wasn’t surprised like that. I mean, it’s only a matter of time.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. So, what happened?” she asks again, more insistent this time.

He fidgets with his hands, twisting and pulling his fingers. He could feel the panic surging up again and he takes long deep breaths to calm himself. Yacchan seems to notice his agitation and waves her hands in front, either to placate him or defend herself.

“You don’t have to—”

“I rejected her,” he blurts out. He squeezed his eyes shut and Kaori-san’s dejected face is the first image that pops in his mind, drowning him in guilt once again. He opens his eyes quickly. Yacchan’s face twists with worry, eyes concerned.

“And you feel guilty,” Yacchan confirms. “It’s normal to feel like that, don’t beat yourself over it, Shou-kun.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not it, though.” Then as if his body is trying to compensate with all the surging misery and resentment inside of him, he starts laughing—giggling at first then escalates into a full-on fit, his body shaking. He even makes snorting, gasping sounds.

Yacchan flinches, cautiously leaning away as she stares at him in shock, like he’s gone completely insane. Maybe he has. He laughs even harder at the thought.

He manages to reduce his wracking laughter to small giggles and chortles. “I actually c-considered—accepting her—her confession. I—I thought if—if I start going out with her—” he pauses as another uncontrollable snicker escapes from his mouth, “—I could forget about—about my feelings for K-Kageyama.”

He laughs hysterically again and Yacchan actually looks terrified as she gawks at him. He calms down after a while, chest heaving. Tears are starting to prick in his eyes.

“It was the perfect opportunity. But I didn’t. I _couldn’t_. You know why?” Yacchan shakes her head quickly. “Because as soon as I imagined being with her or anyone else, my body feels like it's tearing from the inside. It’s so against the idea of someone other than Kageyama that I felt like _dying_.”

His chuckles are now verging on choked sobs and when a single tear slides down from his eyes, all of his walls come crumbling down. The lone tear is followed by another one, and another one, until soon, a steady stream of salty tears flows its way down his cheek, releasing the sadness and sorrow that has been held inside of him, like a river escaping the dam.

His upper body and shoulders wrack with every sob that forces their way out, chest rising and falling unevenly as he gasps for breath. He presses his palms against his eyes, trying desperately to stop the escape of tears but it still comes, spilling over his hands.

Yacchan’s calming voice and soothing rubs on his back brings him back from the edge. She hands her a handkerchief and with a trembling hand, he uses it to wipe his wet, snotty face.

“Why can’t I give up on him, Yacchan?” He crumples the handkerchief in his hand. “I tried everything I could. I tried distancing myself. I even got rejected!” He says the last sentence with a wrecked, hollow scoff. Another pair of tears rolls down his cheeks.

“Why do I love him so much?”

He could taste his salty tears dripping in his mouth. He clutches the front of his shirt, directly over his aching heart, squeezing tight—tighter—as if the action would make him understand it better.

And in some way, it did. A thought so hidden deep inside the recesses of his heart, harboring hidden resentment and bitterness, finally lets loose.

“Why can’t he love me back?” he whispers brokenly, to Yacchan, to the wind, to anyone who is listening. To himself.

Silent tears trace down his already mottled cheeks, not even bothering to wipe them away. He sobs again and he hides his face against his shaky hands, trying to muffle the wretched noises escaping his throat. Yacchan is still quiet, still softly caressing his back.

It doesn’t last long—he must be running out of anything to spill—and after a while he manages to regain control of his breathing. He releases his face from the confines of his hands.

“I-I can’t take it anymore,” he breathes, not even sure if he actually said it out loud or he’s just mouthing the words. He feels so tired—from crying, from pretending, from acting like he’s okay. From everything.

Is this how love is supposed to feel like? Like dying? Like living an endless nightmare that no matter what he does, he can’t wake up from? If this is going to be this painful then—then he wishes he never fell in love. He wants everything to just disappear; all of it should just go away. He wishes—he—

“I wish I never met him,” he says audibly, voice dripping with contempt, harsh and raspy from his crying.

But the moment the words fall out of his mouth, his traitorous heart caves in on itself, his stomach squirming from the deception he’s trying to force upon himself. His brain even tells him so.

 

_Liar._

 

Yacchan seems to agree. “You don’t mean that,” she asserts, clear and certain, like she’s daring Shouyou to contradict her but they both already know she’s right.

He just lets out a resigned sigh. He stares up at the reddening sky, dashes of purples and blues coloring the billowing clouds.

“I can’t even tell him I like him,” he admits, mostly to himself. The words drift into the afternoon air, both of them still and silent. A stabbing chill runs through his body; his shirt is wet from the mixture of tears and dew. He sniffs when a snot threatens to drip and wipes his nose with the wrinkled handkerchief.

“You can,” Yacchan says in a tiny voice. For a moment, Shouyou is confused as he stares back at her, then she repeats, clearer and louder, “You can. You didn’t actually confess, you know.”

How can they just say that? As if it's the easiest, most uncomplicated thing to do, the entailing consequences nothing but inevitable doom. It’s really getting under his skin, irritated on how they can easily demand that from him, how simple and effortless they make it seem.

Shouyou scoffs. “What’s the point, Yacchan?” His voice is edging on anger, he knows, but he reiterates, “What’s the _fucking_ point?”

But a part of him understands that they’re right; he’s just being stubborn. Call him a coward or a wimp or whatever, confessing scares the hell out of him, and he will stand by his resolve to keep it under strict lock and key, no matter what anyone says.

Because _what’s the fucking point_?

He feels guilty though, looking at Yacchan’s staggered face. His expression softens, trying to look and sound apologetic as possible. “I-I’m sorry, Yacchan. I didn’t mean to snap.”

Yacchan just smiles. “It’s okay.”

He glances back up at the sky—the sun is starting to set, the last of its rays disappearing into the horizon.

“You should go home, Yacchan. It’s starting to get dark.” He stands, his limbs a bit stiff from prolonged sitting. He reaches out from where Yacchan is sitting and and helps her up to her feet.

She eyes him warily, brow knitted in concern. “How about you?”

“I think I’ll stay here for a while.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

Shouyou flashes him a forced grin (though he hopes she won’t notice) and a thumbs up. “I’ll be fine.”

Her face is still painted with worry then she hugs him, squeezing him tight before letting go, and with a small smile and a wave, she disappears into the corner.

Shouyou remains standing there, for how long, he isn’t sure. He just stares into the distance, into the setting sun, the flock of birds overhead, the leaves rustling from the cold wind.

He starts walking towards the school gates, hands rubbing up and down his arms as he shivers.

 

* * *

 

Shouyou stops short. Kageyama is there by the bike stand, leaning against one of the posts, his head hung low. He hasn’t seen him yet, and Shouyou has half a mind to circle back or wait until Kageyama leaves; he’s the last person he wants to see right now, not in the miserable, volatile state he’s in. But he needs his bike and Kageyama is right by his, and now that he takes a closer look, his canvas bag is slung over Kageyama’s shoulders.

He takes a deep breath, trying to ease his tingling nerves. He feels cold, his shirt is soaked with the moist from where he lied down and it sticks on his back, chilling him further. He clenches and unclenches his fists, shakes his limbs, trying to get his circulation going, to at least ease the cold and with another steeling exhale, he walks towards the bike stand.

Kageyama doesn’t notice his approach until he’s a few feet away from him. He finally looks up at Shouyou, passive at first, then he frowns.

“Where the hell did you go, dumbass? Since when do you skip class?”

Shouyou doesn’t answer. He takes a tentative step forward and reaches for his bag, tugging it out of Kageyama’s grip.

He could hear Kageyama grit his teeth and he tighten his hold on Shouyou’s bag, pulling it closer to him, Shouyou stumbling a bit forward. He pulls back, harder this time, but Kageyama tugs back even more forcefully and Shouyou almost crashes into his chest but he steadies himself in time.

“Give me my bag,” he rasps, tugging the strap again but it’s feeble, all his strength had left him; he’s just so tired.

Kageyama grabs his wrist. He just lets him, no point trying to wrestle out of Kageyama’s grip, he’s always been weak against him anyway.

“Answer me first. Where the hell were you?”

He looks down on his shoes. “I’m tired, Kageyama. You can lecture me tomorrow or whatever, just—just let me go.”

Kageyama squeezes his wrist for a second then he loosens it, enough for Shouyou to shake off his hold. He reaches for his bag again and although hesitant, Kageyama finally lets him take it.

Slinging his bag on his shoulders, he makes his way to his bike when Kageyama blocks his way, putting a hand on the handlebars.

“What—”

“Is this another one of your ridiculous attempts to avoid me?”

Shouyou jolts in place and Kageyama definitely notices, judging by the way he scoffs humorlessly.

“It is, isn’t it?” His tone a mixture of disbelief and accusation. “You’d go as far to skip lunch and classes just to avoid me.”

Shouyou bites his lip, avoiding Kageyama’s stare. “I’m not avoiding you,” he mumbles. Strictly speaking, he wasn’t this time—

“I’m not stupid, Hinata! Do you honestly think I wouldn’t notice? How you turn me down at every opportunity? How fucking lame your excuses are?” he growls as he grasps Shouyou’s shoulders, shaking him.

Shouyou shoves him hard on the chest, his strength just enough to release Kageyama’s hold on him. Kageyama staggers a bit backward, bumping on his bike.

“I’m not avoiding you!” he yells at him, ignoring the taste of bile in his throat as he lies. “And—and I’m not making excuses! I have other things to do, you know! You’re not—”

He’s cut off by a loud sneeze forced out of his body. Then another. And another, his body trembling by the sudden, involuntary action. A trail of snot drips from his nose and he immediately wipe it with his sleeves.

Kageyama’s angry expression softened as he takes a step towards Shouyou. “Oi, are you okay?” He peers at his face and his frown returns. “Your eyes are puffy.”

Then as realization dawns on his face, the frown disappears altogether, replaced by something akin to worry.

“Have you—have you been crying?” he asks tentatively, face inching closer to Shouyou’s.

Close. _Too_ close!

He hides his face on his shoulders. “N-no! I was just sleeping, okay? Just slee—” Another series of sneeze burst out of him. He sniffs.

Kageyama takes a hold of his shoulders again. “You’re trembling. Are you okay?”

Shouyou glances at Kageyama through the crook of his arms. His brows are scrunched together, but his eyes hold a glint of _something_ , the same _something_ Shouyou tried to dismiss, the one he convinced himself that Kageyama couldn’t possibly be giving him that kind of look. But now, with his face so close, he is having a hard time dissuading himself.

Because Kageyama is looking at him, eyes wide with concern and worry. Almost pained. He’s staring at Shouyou with care and _something else_.

He could feel the emotions surge up and—no. _No_. This is not happening again. He won’t let himself be swayed, not this time. Not _ever_. Another shiver runs through him and it takes all of his already depleted self-control not to let it show.

Shaking himself off of Kageyama’s grasp, he mutters, “I’m fine. Stop asking.”

Kageyama rolls his eyes. “You’re obviously not fine.” He takes a step forward, hands reaching out. “Hinata—”

Shouyou slaps his hand away and snarls, “I said I’m fine! Stop—just stop it!”

 

_Stop giving me that look._

 

Kageyama is shocked for a second but he steps closer and caught Shouyou’s wrist this time. Annoyance is creeping in in his features but there’s still that _look_ and Shouyou scrunches his eyes shut, mentally willing it away, to stop whatever illusion his treacherous mind is invoking.

“Stop what?” Kageyama relaxes his grasp on his wrist, his voice unusually soft, “Look, you’re shaking and—and you can’t ride like this. I think—”

“Please don’t do this.”

 

_You’re making me have expectations again._

 

He just feels so tired and overwhelmed, his emotions running wild again, and seeing Kageyama like this, acting like he actually _cares_ about him in _that way_ , is making his insides churn, emotions so mixed up, he doesn’t even know what to feel.

So, he goes with the most prominent one.

“Don’t act like you care,” he snaps, words dripping with venom as he opens his eyes and looks straight at Kageyama.

He looks confused for a second then his face contorts into a scowl, flinging his anger back at Shouyou. “Of course, I fucking care! What makes you think I don’t?”

“You only care about me as long as I am able to play! I know where this—” He gestures wildly at Kageyama, “—is coming from. You’re just worried that I would miss practice, that this would affect how I play. Worried that instead of practicing to get better, I’m wasting my time getting tired or _God forbid_ , getting sick, ruining your grand master plan to win. Which is—” He jabs a finger at Kageyama with each word he spats, “All! You! Care! About!”

He huffs, chest heaving, but he prepares himself for the lashing out he’s expecting. He ignores the chill coursing through his veins, the cold sweat on his back. The pressing heaviness on his chest.

But Kageyama is not moving, just staring blankly at Shouyou, regarding him with a vacant expression. Then in a flash, his expression darkens, face grimacing in absolute anger.

“Fine,” he grumbles, low and gruff, then he explodes, his voice echoing through the empty field of their school, “If that’s what you think then, _fine_!”

They stare at each other, exchanging withering, noxious glares and for a moment Kageyama’s look falters, eyes suddenly glassy, but it must be the exhaustion and the haziness in Shouyou’s eyes playing tricks on him. That must be it, he chides himself, because no way is Kageyama getting closer, face leaning in.

So close he could feel Kageyama’s warm breath on his cheeks.

Shouyou gulps audibly and Kageyama stills, like a deer caught in headlights. He leaps back quickly, jostling Shouyou’s bike behind him. He steadies himself and sidesteps, glaring on the pavement as he mumbles, “Go home, it’s getting late.”

“I—uhh—right,” Shouyou stutters, voice breaking. He wobbly makes his way to his bike, unlocks it and slowly wheels it out of the rack. He really must be drained and worn out; his knees are shaking so bad he has a hard time keeping himself upright.

Kageyama is still standing there, watching as Shouyou straddles his bike. The air around them is rigid and thick, but it’s not the heavy rage rolling in heated waves a moment ago. This feels more constricting and unnerving, like there’s a storm brewing, electricity crackling making his skin prickle. He shudders and lets out another body-wracking sneeze.

“Wear your jacket, idiot,” Kageyama says, annoyed.

He just nods and opens his bag, pulling out his jacket and slips it on, zipping it all the way to his chin. He grips his handlebars, foot positioned on the pedal, then without a glance at Kageyama, he mutters behind the fabric, “Bye.”

“Yeah.”

He pedals away, the last reserve of his strength barely enough to keep his legs pumping. But it’s nothing compared to the silent, more grueling internal struggle he’s having, his willpower put to the test as he tries not to look back, ignoring the soldering heat at the back of his head. Or the way his heart pounds fitfully inside his chest.

 

* * *

 

Shouyou wakes up with his head pounding, like he just got hit by a hundred spikes. He opens his eyes groggily, squinting at the light peeking through his windows. He sniffs, but it feels like someone plugged his nose with cotton. His shirt and sheets are soaked in sweat, his body radiating intense heat, but he’s shivering and when he tries to pull his blanket up, shooting pains stabbed chaotically through his muscles. He would’ve cried out, but no voice comes out, just a harsh, croaky sound from his sore throat.

Oh _great_.

His bedroom door slides open, revealing a pouty, exasperated Natsu, both of her hands on her hips.

“Nii-chan! Wake up, you’re gonna be late!”

He winces at her shrill voice, intensifying the pounding in his head. He peeks at her from his half-opened eyes and tries to say something. Instead, he sneezes, thrice, nose and eyes dripping when he finishes and he wipes it pitifully with his blanket.

Natsu’s indignant face falters, her hands falling from her sides. She moves towards Shouyou, eyeing him warily. Pushing his hair away from his forehead, she feels his skin with the back of her hand and when she inhales sharply, his nagging suspicion is confirmed.

“You’re burning up!” she exclaims. He winces again, and she abruptly puts a hand on her mouth, face apologetic. She moves her hand away and mouths a ‘sorry.’ He nods in assent, but even doing that is making his head throb, screws drilling down through his skull.

He vaguely hears her say something before she runs out of his room and a few minutes later, his mom comes in, a basin and towel in hand. She gingerly sits beside his bed and puts the basin atop his headboard.

He forcefully clears his throat and tries to make his voice work. “I—I—need to—school—practice—” he croaks, throat scratching with the effort.

“No,” his mother answers plainly. He’s about to argue again but a raucous coughing fit drives out any more of his useless attempts to persuade his mom out of the window. He slumps even further down his bed, defeated.

She says nothing, just smiles at him, eyes worried but comforting all the same. She reaches out, feeling around his forehead and his neck, and when she takes a hold of his sweat-soaked shirt, a tiny worried knot forms on her brows.

“Can you sit up, Shouyou?” she asks gently, already cradling his neck and shoulders. He shifts carefully upwards, ignoring the ache on his muscles as he moves, his mom propping his pillows behind him.

When he’s seated (or leaning back, more like), she pulls up the hem of his shirt and he limply puts his arms up to help her take it off. With a lukewarm towel from the basin, she washes his torso; he’s too exhausted and wilted to feel embarrassed and her gentle caress is calming, soothing his aching body.

He dozed off and the beeping sound of the thermometer wakes him up. His mom takes it from his armpit, eyeing the device warily and frowns. She makes her way to his closet, pulling out a fresh shirt and gently tugs it over his head and he helps her pull it all the way down.  With careful and meticulous tugging and pulling (and some ridiculous mom magic), she changes his sheets and blankets, too, all while Shouyou is leaned back on his bed.

She walks out of his room for a minute and comes back with a glass of water. Coaxing him to open his mouth, she places a pill on his tongue and helps him swallow it with the water, encouraging him to drink the full glass. When she’s satisfied, she helps him ease down, tucking his blanket all the way to his chin. He hears a packet being teared open and then a cool sensation settles on his forehead.

“Sleep, sweetie,” she whispers, lightly stroking his hair.

He hears the careful thud of the door sliding close before his eyelids grow heavy, sending him to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Two hours later and Shouyou feels relatively better when he wakes again. His body is still hurting all over but he manages to sit upright. The notification sound from his phone makes him flinch and with a sluggish arm, he reaches out for it from under his pillow. He flips it open, the glare from the screen makes his eyes water.

**15 missed calls. 26 unread text messages.**

He opens the log. Five of the missed calls are from Kageyama, the other from Yacchan and Yamaguchi and some of his other classmates, and surprisingly, one from Tsukishima. The text messages are from the same people, all demanding why he’s not in school, if he’s okay, or other variations of it.

Kageyama’s messages are a bit different though.

 

**From: Kageyama Tobio**

**Re: (No Subject)**

**8:32PM**

If you get sick, I’m going to kill you.

 

**From: Kageyama Tobio**

**Re: (No Subject)**

**9:48PM**

Don’t get sick. I’m serious.

 

**From: Kageyama Tobio**

**Re: (No Subject)**

**9:57PM**

Drink some medicine, just in case.

 

**From: Kageyama Tobio**

**Re: (No Subject)**

**10:01PM**

I swear, dumbass, if you get sick…

 

**From: Kageyama Tobio**

**Re: (No Subject)**

**10:25PM**

Close your windows before you sleep. Night.

 

The texts were from last night and Shouyou’s heart is clenching and unclenching erratically inside his chest, his already burning face heating up to abnormal levels, and he knows it’s got nothing to do with his fever. Or maybe it’s just getting worse and Shouyou is getting worked up because of it. That must be it.

He continues to read the rest of the unread messages, hands slightly shaking. From the cold, obviously.

 

**From: Kageyama Tobio**

**Re: (No Subject)**

**6:18AM**

You got sick, didn’t you?

 

**From: Kageyama Tobio**

**Re: (No Subject)**

**6:46AM**

I TOLD YOU NOT TO GET SICK, DUMBASS HINATA!!

 

**From: Kageyama Tobio**

**Re: (No Subject)**

**7:21AM**

Stupid idiot!

 

The last one was sent just before he wakes up. A small amused smile creeps on his lips involuntarily as he reads; this might be the first time he received a text from Kageyama containing an exclamation point.

 

**To: Kageyama Tobio**

**Re: (No Subject)**

**7:33AM**

Sorry. I’ll work extra hard when I get better.

 

There’s no reply and Shouyou is part disappointed and part relieved. He collapses back down on his bed.

The events of last night plays out like an old film reel in his (throbbing) head. It was…weird, for the lack of a better word. Or worse, depending on how one would look at it. He was a horrible, tangled mess of emotions last night and something just exploded inside of him, something he didn’t knew he was capable of harboring. It’s like all the concealed anger and resentment forcibly snaked its way out of his system and bared its fangs at the first thing it sees: Kageyama. Or maybe it really was directed at him all along and Shouyou just opted to deny or ignore it. He’s been good at doing those two things lately.

Or is it? Is Kageyama the sole target of all that anger? No, he isn’t. Half of it is aimed at himself, for thinking, even for a split-second, that Kageyama actually cares about him. Oh sure, he does, but not in the way Shouyou wants it to be, not in the way Kageyama was looking at him last night. The look Shouyou _thought_ he saw. It’s his traitorous mind conjuring illusions again, projecting his selfish desires in a moment of absolute delusion, of what it would be like for Kageyama to care about him like that. And instead of getting angry at himself, he hurled it rather aggressively at Kageyama.

He really is becoming a horrible person.

Ignoring the painful pounding in his head, he dials Yacchan’s number—there’s still a few minutes before classes start. She picks up almost immediately, like she’s waiting for his call all this time.

_“Shou-kun! Are you okay? Why’re you not in school? Did something happen? Are you okay?!”_

“I’m fine, Yacchan,” he assures her, but his hoarse, grating voice says otherwise. “I—I mean, I have a cold, I think, but I’m fine.” He hears some shuffling and incomprehensible chatters on the other line; she must be settling in on her classroom.

 _“Oh. Kageyama-kun was right, then. Uhm_ —” she pauses, the scrape of chair audible, then, _“How did he know? He said you didn’t answer any of his calls or text since last night.”_

“Yeah, I didn’t. I just woke up. Uhh—I was feeling a bit off last night, sneezing—” He sniffs as if to emphasize his point. “—and feeling cold and he noticed.”

_“Oh. Then, why did you call me first?”_

“Please, Yacchan. Not now.” He didn’t think his voice could sound anymore pathetic but the way he sounds—voice barely audible and croaking—just proved him wrong.

She sighs and he could almost hear the shaking of her head _. “Okay, okay. Just rest for now. And drink lots of fluids—”_ He hears the murmur and scuffle of students. _“Sensei’s here. Bye, Shou-kun! And please, get better soon.”_

He didn’t even get to breathe out a _‘Bye’_ when he hears the disconnected beep. He texts Yamaguchi next, he’s obligated to inform his captain of his absence, but mostly because he knows Yamaguchi is also worried, and by some extension, however miniscule, so is Tsukishima.

He receives a reply a little before lunch, Yamaguchi sending the same sentiments as Yacchan and that he could handle without his vice-captain at least for a day. Another text comes through, this time from Tsukishima, a simple _‘Get well, midget,’_ followed by a _‘I guess you’re not that much of an idiot if you can catch a cold.’_ He smiles at his friend’s unusual, yet oddly reassuring concerned gesture.

Finishing his porridge and taking another bitter pill, swallowing it down with a homemade honey tea his mom brewed, Shouyou lays back on his bed, eyelids starting to close when his phone rings and he immediately knows who it is. He lets the phone ring for ten full seconds before he groans and flips it open.

_“I told you not to get sick, dumbass.”_

Shouyou exhales breathily through his mouth. “Sorry,” he croaks then proceeds to cough continuously, instinctively turning his face away and hacks at the crook of his arm.

_“Are you okay?”_

He lets out a few small coughs before he clears his throat and responds, “Y-yeah. This is nothing.” He forces some chirpiness and composure in his voice, ignoring the way his aching body screams at him that he is very clearly not.

 _“Tsk. That didn’t sound nothing at all.”_ Kageyama snaps. He’s silent for a moment, then he mumbles quickly, _“Have you eaten yet?”_

“Huh?”

_“Did you take any medicine?”_

“Uhm—”

_“Are you drinking enough water?”_

“Kageyama—"

_“Answer me, dumbass Hinata!”_

Shouyou frowns, confused by Kageyama’s sudden outburst. “I—uhm—yes? To all your questions.”

He hears a sigh and then, _“Good.”_

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry, I’ll still be able to play,” he says teasingly, a pitiful attempt to make light of the situation.

He could almost hear Kageyama grinding his teeth and the deep grumble behind it _. “Why are you—Why do you think like that?”_

“Think like what?”

_“Like all I care about is you being able to play.”_

Seriously? Did he _seriously_ just ask him that?

Shouyou scoffs. “Isn’t it, though?”

 _“No, it’s not!”_ Kageyama practically roars from the other end, making Shouyou grimace. _“I’m—I am worried, okay? Of you getting sick and—shit—!"_

Irritation quickly overcomes him, like he’s been doused with it, cold and unforgiving. “What are you getting mad at? I already said I’m sorry!” Trying to channel frustration and annoyance is hard when you sound like a dying whale.

_“I’m not mad!”_

“Understatement of the century.”

He could almost see the look of aggravation in Kageyama’s face, of unbridled anger, the one Shouyou is unfortunate enough to be the subject of multiple times. He’s positive that he’ll hear the disconnected tone any minute now and that inflames his own irritation. No way is he giving him that satisfaction. His thumb is mere millimeters from the end button when Kageyama speaks up, voice uncharacteristically placid, almost pleading.

 _“I’m not mad. Look, I—I know this is weird. And—I_ really _am—really—"_

“You don’t even make sense.”

Kageyama groans, muffled, like he’s running his palms over his face while doing so. He sighs then continues his nonsensical rambling, _“Last night—I’m sorry if I snapped at you. I—you never skipped class before and when you didn’t show up for lunch and the rest of the classes, I was worried and it irritates the hell out of me that’s why I—”_

“Then don’t,” Shouyou rasps, ignoring the break in his voice. “Don’t do it if it annoys you that much.”

_“Hinata, that’s not—that’s not what I mean! I hate worrying about you—”_

The rest of Kageyama’s words sound distant to Shouyou, garbled and muffled incoherently in his ears.

_Hate._

Kageyama hates it. He despises it so much, disliked it so strongly, that he _hates_ it. One simple word, and yet it feels like a thousand jagged, rusty knife just plunged in his heart and gut, twisting with each muddled voice from the other end.

Shouyou forcibly swallows the lump in his sore throat. “If you hate it, then don’t do it. Don’t force yourself to feel something you clearly don’t. No one asked you to.”

_“What? That’s—”_

“Sorry for being nothing but a bother. I promise I’ll get better soon enough. I won’t miss out on Golden Week, if that’s what you’re _worried_ about.”

_“Hinata—”_

“I need to rest and the medicine is making me sleepy. Bye, Kageyama.”

Warm, angry tears roll unceremoniously down his cheek. He presses the end button quickly before he gets to hear anymore hurtful, cutting words from Kageyama, before he could add to the hundreds of wounds he left in Shouyou’s already mangled heart, the medicine doing nothing to ease the throbbing pain.

 

* * *

 

A streak of light peeks through the window, splashing its warmth and glare on Shouyou’s face. He opens one eye begrudgingly and squints. Groaning, he turns on his side, his eyelids dropping to slumber when he hears a shuffle of feet from outside. He hears his mother’s voice and another one he can’t quite identify, although something about it is strangely familiar. A high-pitched squeal echoes through the hallway, permeating through his room, loud and ringing.

Ah, Natsu must be home. Eyes snapping open, he rolls again on his back and directs his attention at his bedroom door, waiting for Natsu to come barreling in.

His vision is a bit fuzzy and the afternoon light filtered through his yellow curtains is making the colors toned down with a hazy kind of glow. He blinks multiple times to adjust his vision but the glazed over version of his room is still what he’s processing.

His bedroom door slowly slides open and when dark blue eyes meet his brown ones, he knows he’s dreaming. Or in delirium.

Shouyou smiles. “Hey.”

Kageyama is halfway inside Shouyou’s room, his hand still gripping the door. There’s his usual frowny face but the sheepish, almost bashful look is hard not to notice and it’s so adorable Shouyou starts to giggle.

“Why are you just standing there? Aren’t you here to visit me?”

The frown on Kageyama’s face deepens but he fully enters his room and slides the door shut behind him. Shouyou’s gaze and smile lingers on Kageyama until he’s looking down at him from the side of his bed.

“You’re a dumbass,” Kageyama says, although there’s no malice or offense laced in it. It almost sound endearing.

Shouyou is liking this version of Dream Kageyama (Dreamyama?) more and more by the second.

He laughs again but the effort makes him cough raucously, his body shaking with each heaving hack. Ugh, why is he still sick even in his dream? Oh right, he must be living his fantasy of Kageyama visiting him. Nice one, brain.

Kageyama’s stern expression slackens and he reaches out to Shouyou, lightly brushing his arm. “Don’t work yourself up, stupid.” He looks around and grabs the glass of water by his headboard.

“Here,” he says and gently helps Shouyou to lean up to drink.

 

_He used to touch me like that just a few months ago. Gentle._

_Stupid. He never touched you like that. It was your hyperactive brain projecting those delusions. Just like now._

_Right, right._

 

With shaky hands, Shouyou feebly reaches for the glass of water. Huh, this dream is exceptionally realistic and vivid, he could even feel the cool sensation of the liquid soothing his scratchy throat and Kageyama’s warm hand on his back, lightly rubbing up and down as he drinks.

Kageyama takes the glass when he finishes and helps him ease back down. Shouyou stares up at him, taking in this sight of Kageyama—his midnight blue eyes wide and a bit misty with worry, brows knitted. But lurking behind it is that _somethin_ g Shouyou desperately wants to be real. Indubitable concern and that other _thing_. The one he knows is mirrored on his own face right now.

Warmth fills him up, a completely different kind from his fever. This one is burning intensely, searing but comforting, like drinking a hot cocoa during a rainy day. Like burying under the kotatsu while eating roasted chestnuts. Like coming home to where you truly belong.

“I miss you,” he whispers, staring straight into Kageyama’s eyes. Never mind that this Kageyama is just some kind of fallacy, a figment of his imagination; he just wants him to know, however spineless and pathetic this way is.

Kageyama stills for a fraction of a second then he smiles. A real, genuine smile that lights Kageyama’s face he’s almost glowing. No, not almost. He looks undeniably ethereal and Shouyou chokes back a sob on how heartbreakingly beautiful Kageyama looks right now. Smiling at him.

He reaches out and very gently ruffles Shouyou’s hair, brushing it away from his forehead. His touch is going down, lowering to Shouyou’s face and stops by his cheek, cupping it lightly. Shouyou instinctively leans on it, nuzzling the warmth from Kageyama’s palm. His thumb softly caresses his cheek, drawing lazy patterns over it, then it inches down languidly, until Kageyama’s thumb lightly traces over his chapped lips, alternating between his cupid bow and his lower lip.

“I miss you, too,” Kageyama says, breathless, and the words robs the air out of Shouyou’s lungs, too, making him feel light-headed in the most gratifying, satiated kind of way.

 

     _I love you._

 

Whether this is a sweet dream or an agonizingly beautiful nightmare, he never wants to wake up. Let him live in this fantasy, runny nose and all.

But Kageyama very slowly pulls his hand back, curling it into a fist the moment it falls on his side. He scrunches his eyes tight and he’s trembling but before Shouyou could ask what’s wrong, Kageyama snaps his eyes open and hurriedly retrieves something from his bag and places it on his desk.

“I have to go.” Kageyama starts to turn, heading out of Shouyou’s room.

 

_No! Don’t leave!_

 

Shouyou sits upright and grabs Kageyama’s jacket. “No! Please—please stay,” he sobs pitifully, on the verge of tears.

 

_I don’t want to wake up. Please. Not yet._

 

Kageyama stops and stares back at him, face twisted in annoyance and grabs Shouyou’s hand gripping the hem of his jacket. For a moment, Shouyou thought he’ll slap his hand away, the dream finally dissolving into reality, but then Kageyama’s face softens, clasping Shouyou’s hands into his and he’s back on the edge of the bed, kneeling.

A lone tear streaks down Shouyou’s cheek from relief and almost immediately, Kageyama’s finger wipes it away. “Don’t cry, dumbass.”

“Please don’t go,” he pleads again, and he didn’t realize he starts crying until Kageyama scrubs his face with a tissue, maybe a bit forcefully.

“I said don’t cry!” he grumbles, then he lowers his voice, his hold on Shouyou’s hand tightening, “I’m here.”

Shouyou smiles then and Kageyama responds with a small smile of his own. The warmth returns a hundred-fold, filling him completely, seeping through and relieving his aching muscles better than any other drug. It’s wildly intoxicating and beguiling, he lost control of his senses, any and all restraints and reasonable logic freeing themselves from their shackles, and his body moves out of pure instinct.

This is his dream anyway. He can do whatever the hell he wants.

If the warmth before is burning, it is nothing compared to the scorching heat of the soft press of Kageyama’s lips against his. It’s merely a brush, they’re barely touching, but the sensation is a tad bit too much for him, rendering him numb, except for the touch between their lips and the almost painful thumping of his heart, trashing wildly inside his chest.

Maybe it’s all too extreme and emotionally intense for him to handle and he drops down, his head leaning on Kageyama’s broad chest, fingers twisting the front of his jacket. His eyes starts to close.

The last thing he remembers is the cottony feel of his blanket tickling his chin and a light brush of hand on his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: How stupid do I want this to be?  
> Also me: YES


	8. Twice The Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kageyama goes through some things
> 
> Tsukki lives for the drama (aren't we all?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh I'm so sorry. I know this chapter is waaaay overdue but better late than never, right?
> 
> Srsly, this chapter did NOT want to be written, it's becoming as obnoxious as the author. At least the chapters are getting longer as we go on (me trying to compensate for the late update) 
> 
> ***
> 
> Buckle up kids, this is going to be one heck of a bumpy ride.
> 
> ***
> 
> UPDATE!! There's a V E R Y nice surprise in the end (^.~)☆

The droning voice of Ono-sensei is nothing but a muffled hum in Tobio’s ears. He’s supposed to be following the passage as his teacher reads but his mind is blank, the gears in a total standstill since yesterday. It’s as though it had gone to sleep, just a hazy, cloudy headspace, not a single information is registering.

Except for one thing.

His index finger insentiently finds its way on his lips, gently pressing it. He could still feel it: the intense warmth of Hinata’s lips brushing against his; the blazing heat flooding from his chest, spreading throughout his entire body; the way his heart thumps almost painfully inside his ribcage, threatening to burst out.

He’s been in a daze since yesterday he doesn’t even remember how he got home. Or did he go back to school after going to Hinata’s? The rest of his memory is nothing but a blur, the only thing he seems to remember is the way Hinata looked when he visited him, eyes sparkling, his smile even brighter than usual, one wouldn’t even think he was sick. Hinata looked absolutely happy seeing Tobio and when Hinata said he misses him, cheeks flushed pink, the sincerest he’s ever seen him look, all of Tobio’s common sense just went to fuck itself and he moved out of instinct, no thoughts of holding back or control to keep him in check.

And damn, did he not hold back.

It’s as if all of Tobio’s repressed yearning to touch Hinata in that way just lets loose, his hand moving on its own. Hinata feels so soft and warm and he didn’t think his desires could get any bigger, but it did, and when Hinata leans on his touch, absolute trust reflected in those honey eyes he’s always been weak of, the words are out of his mouth, words that have been trying to force their way out for as long as he can remember.

He only meant to say he misses him, too, and _fuck_ , when Hinata said it to him, Tobio could feel all the apprehension fall off his shoulder in waves, all the worry and unease he’s been bearing ever since he started noticing that Hinata was avoiding him and that Hinata hates him somehow just dissipates. And he did say it back, as sincere as he can muster, but his stupid mouth didn’t stop there.

The bell rings and Tobio vaguely hears the collective sigh of his classmates, the scrape of their seats, the incomprehensible mutters of gossip. What he clearly hears is his own voice inside his head, loud and echoing, as he told Hinata that he loves him.

 

* * *

 

Tobio’s hand keeps finding its way to his lips, lightly running over it with his fingers. He can’t help it; he’s unconsciously been doing it the whole day. The lingering touch of Hinata’s lips is so vivid that when he closes his eyes, it’s as if it’s happening all over again. He could feel Hinata’s warm breath ghosting over his cheeks as he moved closer; his small hand fisting on his jacket; his chapped yet soft lips pressing delicately on his. And every time he remembers it, his mind goes haywire, turning into mush and all he thinks about are the words _Hinata_ , _kiss_ , and _holy shits_.

A small wobbly smile forms on his mouth and he instinctively covers it with his hand but the red spreading on his cheeks and ears is impossible to hide and some of his classmates start to give him weird looks. He just glares back at them menacingly and they turn away quickly. He folds his arm on his desk and buries his head between them, smiling idiotically on the hard wood.

Just what the hell did that kiss mean? Could it be… _that_? Had Hinata heard him and the kiss was his response? He knows he barely said the words, it was just a tiny whisper, but the look on Hinata’s face right after he blurted it out was a subtle validation that he did hear him. The smile on Hinata’s face faltered for a fraction and he’d gone completely still, tensing under Tobio’s hand on his face. He almost looked…sad and Tobio knew he just made a terrible, terrible mistake.

The warmth he felt beforehand was smothered by a stabbing cold of fear and being an utter coward he is, he tried to run away, play it off as nothing.

But when Hinata told him, begged him, to stay, the walls came crumbling down to dust, along with what was left of Tobio’s self-control and he stayed. He had half a mind to apologize, to take back what he said, that he didn’t mean it like that because _fuck he wasn’t supposed to tell his best friend that he loves him, he was supposed to take his secret to the grave because clearly Hinata only sees him as a friend and goddammit he just ruined everything_ but then Hinata kissed him and everything else didn’t matter, just the scorching heat enveloping between them.

It was mere seconds—he didn’t even get to kiss Hinata back—but it felt like an eternity or, more accurately, as cliché as it may sound, time plainly became nonexistent. Years of longing had been reduced to that fleeting moment, the connection between them almost palpable—it didn’t even come close to the feeling of _'oneness'_ he has with Hinata when they’re on court.

Tobio never felt this way for something, especially _someone_ like this before. Not even volleyball, although it undeniably played a huge part of it. It terrified him at first, he didn’t know what exactly he’s been feeling and the idea of something that he can’t explain, nor control scared the shit out of him. He just knows that it’s got something to do with Hinata. The little shit who never fails to make Tobio’s heart squeeze painfully whenever he casts him yet another one of his ridiculously blinding smiles. Or when he casually throws _‘you’re amazings’_ or _‘we’re awesomes’_ like loose change, blissfully unaware of how it makes Tobio’s head spin, his mentality descending halfway between bliss and annoyance. Or how he could just trust Tobio blindly, how two simple words could make him unravel, the binds of his traumatic past coming undone with each word he never thought he’ll be able to hear again.

He tried to dismiss it at first and blamed Hinata for causing whatever it was that he’d done to him, distracting him from the most important thing in his life. He used volleyball as a diversion, telling himself that if he directed all his focus and undivided attention in playing, he could ignore the weird feeling he gets whenever Hinata is within a five-meter radius, and it would simply go away. But he realized belatedly that volleyball and Hinata are in the same context, he can’t think of one without the other, and soon, the lines that separated them blurred together, merging, and before he could stop it, Hinata had completely permeated over it.

And Tobio hated it. He flung his annoyance at Hinata, he got mad at him for every single thing, provoked him in a bat of an eye. Looking back, he could’ve been subconsciously trying to get Hinata to hate him. Because as much as the dumbass annoyed the hell out of him, he never really disliked Hinata, as if anyone could ever hate the very personification of pure, positive energy, of cheeriness and all that happy shit.

But Hinata never wavered, if anything, he only latched himself on Tobio’s side, and before they both became aware of it, they became inseparable, not only in court, but outside of it as well. Sure, they still bicker and fight over the most mundane things, a good number of those Tobio instigated, but it’s the only way he knows how to be comfortable with Hinata. He could hide behind the half-hearted insults, using mock anger to mask his nervousness.

In time, he learned to accept that what he feels goes beyond that of friendship, and surprisingly, as soon as he acknowledged it, being around Hinata became easier. They evolved to being best friends and Tobio could still remember the unexplainable happiness he felt, knowing that he’s more than just a teammate, a partner on court, in Hinata’s life. That despite the myriad of friends Hinata has, he chose Tobio to be his _best_ friend. Hinata even goes as far as to say that Tobio is his ‘ _favorite person_.’

(Hinata earned a rather painful smack on the back at that, but old habits die hard, and while Hinata was wheezing and calling Tobio a _‘violent jerk,’_ he was busy hiding his cherry red cheeks and the dumb smile on his mouth on the collar of his jacket.)

As the closeness between them grows, so did the intense fiery blaze of feelings inside of Tobio. That’s the best way to describe it: a giant bonfire that no matter how much he tries to douse it, the dumbass always manages to rekindle it, like the stupid sun he is. Hinata _literally_ lit his whole life, a glaring beacon in his existence. Maybe that’s why he can’t help but to fall in love with Hinata. It’s like he found a missing piece of him, one he never knew he needed but ultimately ended up wanting it. Hinata pulled him out of his bad place, out of the loneliness that he tried not to mind. He understood and accepted him, kingly attitude and all, without questions asked. And all this time, he never even thanked him for that. Call it pride or his inane egotism, he can’t say those kinds of things, like he can’t just say: _‘Oi, dumbass, I’m in love with you and I just want to know if it’s okay to feel this way.’_

The best he could do was translate his affections into actions. He made sure to ask his mom to put extra carrots in his curry because he knows Hinata likes carrots (Seriously, what is up with him and anything orange?). He bought him meat buns and milk boxes, even if it had to cut in his own allowance, but the radiant smile on Hinata’s face as he thanked him was worth a million yen.

Just seeing Hinata happy, be happy because of something Tobio did other than give him tosses, was enough. As long as he got to be friends with Hinata, as long as he’s able to see him smile because of something he did, he was content. He’ll cherish their friendship—every second they spend together, every little gesture between them—for as much as he could because that was the only way he can have Hinata, that was the limit of their _‘partnership.’_

Everything was good, their dynamic as a duo on court was stronger than ever, their bond as friends just as strong, and Tobio couldn’t be more satisfied.

Until he isn’t.

With each passing day, the desire and need to touch Hinata gradually overwhelmed the innocent feelings he had—until it became not so innocent.

It’s hard not to with how much Hinata had grown for the past years. He’s still the smallest member of the team, but he gained a couple of centimeters—he’s almost as tall as Sugawara-san—and he’s built like a brick, all lean muscles, not a single inch wasted, and every time he jumps, Tobio could see the stretch of his thighs and calves, and when his shirt rides up, his toned stomach is on full display for a second. His once childish features became sharper but still with that softness Tobio’s sure only Hinata can pull off. And when he smiles— _damn it his smile_ —something just sparks up inside of Tobio and he wants, no, _needs_ that smile to be just for him.

Never did he imagined himself to be affected by another person to this extent. He’s always been indifferent when it comes to these things and the concept of being physically attracted to another person had always baffled him. It seemed an insignificant matter, not worth his time and attention.  And even though he can appreciate a cute or pretty girl, the thought never dwells, not in the way it does when it comes to Hinata, like he flipped a switch in Tobio and _turns him on_ , in every fucking sense of the phrase.

Without fail, Tobio falls deeper into the aching want to touch and feel and to _have_ Hinata, and there were even a couple of instances where he had to excuse himself from practice to cool himself off _because goddammit was Hinata actually trying to kill him?_

Before he could even restrain himself, the touching started. Nothing too indecent—he’s not _that_ crazy—just small touches, on Hinata’s shoulders, his wrist, his hair (Tobio wonders if he’s got a thing with Hinata’s hair—as if he hasn’t a thing for him entirely). He made sure not to take things too far, tried to make it as casual as he can, but there were times that Hinata would look at him funny like he’s trying to decipher Tobio with those probing brown eyes and Tobio was actually scared that he’d been found out but then Hinata would just laugh and touch him back. But even those minute contacts were enough to drove him mad, the only witness to his ever-growing lust is his hand under his pants and the sticky mess after.

It had become too overwhelming, the fire inside of him burning every nerve in his body until he couldn't take it anymore. He was going to confess. Never mind that it would be the single most terrifying thing he had to do and there’s absolutely no guarantee that confessing would temper his dilapidating hunger, but he had to do something before it consumed him completely, making him do something he would regret. And if he got rejected (which he’s positive he would be), then he’ll deal with the aftermath, no matter how painful it’s going to be.

Then Hinata said he liked someone, and his resolve falls apart (along with the tiny speck of hope he secretly allowed to burn, that small off chance that maybe Hinata feels the same).

He can’t burden him with his unwarranted feelings, he can’t just shove them selfishly like he wanted to. He cares about him too much to do that and right then and there, he made the decision to relinquish whatever hold he had on Hinata, as if there is any to begin with.

The walls build themselves back up, brick by brick, and when Hinata asked if he liked someone, everything in him just shut down, locking away the feelings he stupidly allowed to run rampant. But even as he said no, his heart shrunk as he lied.

Giving up on Hinata right away would be impossible, Tobio’s been harboring these feelings far too long to be able to easily let it go completely, but he knew it’s the right thing to do. It’s only a matter of time before Hinata figured it out or even worse, Tobio will go completely insane and act on instinct and do something despicable.

He tried not to touch Hinata as often as he would, tried to look at him as little as possible. He started closing off and he’s highly aware that he’s resorting back to acting like a complete asshole, consequently hurting the team. Hurting Hinata, and that’s the last thing he wants. He wants to protect him—that’s why he did it in the first place—but he doesn’t want to alienate himself completely; he still wants to be with him. As a friend.

(He was being selfish, he knows, but is it still a surprise at this point?)

Even so, he kept his hands to himself, acted like he usually would. He handled it fine thus far; he could continue doing so.

But Hinata started avoiding him. He became fidgety whenever they’re together, acting nervous all of a sudden. Tobio wrote it off as another one of the weird, quirky things Hinata does, ever the unpredictable little shit, and he just let him be for a little while, complacent that Hinata would go back to normal. But weeks passed and it all became too unbearable. Tobio was at his wit’s ends trying to figure out what was wrong with Hinata or if he did something wrong to warrant those actions.

Hinata suddenly became a mystery to Tobio. All these years of knowing him, he thought he’s able to understand Hinata like the back of his hand despite being polar opposites. He didn't know where all of Hinata’s aggression came from (still doesn't), how he became too defensive, too hard to read, and acting like a completely different person. Tobio rarely saw Hinata smile genuinely at him nowadays and every time he forced one, something in Tobio shattered. It’s like Hinata suddenly shut himself off from Tobio and even though they still spend time together, there’s this gaping distance between that no matter how much Tobio tried to reach out, Hinata would inch himself further away.

Tobio knew he’s not the best at communicating but if that’s what it took to figure out what the fuck was going on with Hinata, he’ll try. And he did, he tried to confront him about it and as expected, he royally fucked up. His genuine concern, and by extension, his feelings, was disregarded. Misinterpreted. Crushed. And that made him realize: no matter how much he cares, how much affection he’s trying to render in actions or words, no one would ever accept them, no one would deem them as genuine.

Because he’s an egotistic king, too selfish and conceited to ever feel something for another person, much less care about one.

Then the kiss happened and all of the self-loathing and pity he’s drowning in was dried out by the raging warmth radiating from Hinata, sparking the bonfire inside of him to life, the one-sided love he’s willing to bottle up for the rest of his life coming undone, screwing the lid open with a single action. That one simple contact unraveled every piece of him, bursting apart at the seams then just as quick, build him back up again, making him anew.

One simple contact but not for Tobio. It means _everything_ to him and not even the satisfaction of setting up a perfect toss could ever compare to the magnitude that kiss has.

 

* * *

 

Tobio spends the rest of his day in a blissful daze, too absorbed in his own bubble of euphoria, even volleyball practice is not enough to wake him up from his trance.

“Stop smiling or hell is going to freeze over.”

Tobio instantly smothers his face with his palm and glares at Tsukishima. “Fuck off.”

Tsukishima just smirks at him and leans by the gym’s door. He takes a sip from his water bottle. “So, did something happen yesterday?”

Tobio regards Tsukishima. As much as he hates to admit it, Tsukishima had sort-of became one of his friends. He’s still an asshole, but he’s oddly easy to talk to, and most of the time—and Tobio would rather _die_ than say this out loud—his opinions make sense.

“I visited Hinata yesterday.”

“Tell me something I don’t know. I think that’s the first time you left practice early, King.”

“You already know so why are you still asking?” Tobio snaps, trying to sound annoyed despite the smile threatening to form in his mouth. _Stop it. Not while this jerk is around._

Tsukishima folds his arms and quirks his brows, looking down at him with a condescending expression. “Don’t dodge the question. Something happened yesterday.” His poker face warps into a devilish grin. “Eh. Did you finally grow a pair and confessed?”

He isn’t surprised that Tsukishima knew about his feelings for their ace. Hell, everyone probably knew, and by that he means _everyone_. He knows he’s not exactly subtle with the whole ‘ _I’m in love with my partner’_ thing. Everyone knew, except the oblivious dumbass.

“I guess I did.” _Shit_ , he could feel his face and the tips of his ears warming up and no way in seven hells is he going to let Tsukishima see him like this. He quickly throws his towel over his head and scowled on the cement between his feet, trying to wipe the stupid grin off his face.

Tsukishima snickers. “I’m shocked, King, I didn’t know you had it in you.” Without warning, he plops down next to him. Tobio hides his face further in his towel and deepens his frown so hard his brows are starting to hurt. Too late though, Tsukishima’s already seen him, judging from the lopsided grin on his smug face.

The blonde bastard laughs again. “Oh! Another first from the King! I never knew you could blush like that!”

Tobio pulls the towel from his head and whips it at Tsukishima’s face, slightly sending his glasses askew. “S-shut up!”

Tsukishima continues laughing while he adjusts his glasses. The side of his face where Tobio smacked him is starting to redden but he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he looked even more amused.

“One more word, Tsukishima, and my towel won’t be the next thing to hit your face.”

Tsukishima just shakes his head, sneering. “Oh, lighten up. It went well, didn’t it?”

“I never thought you’d be the gossipy type.”

“This is all too entertaining for me to pass up and it’s fun to see the idiot duo suffer pointlessly.” Tsukishima quirks a brow at Tobio, questioning. “So?”

Tobio sighs. No point trying to pry Tsukishima off his business, he’ll just pester him later on and Tobio would rather deal with him now. And in all honesty, there’s no other person he could confide in, even if the thought of it sends shivers up his spine

“He didn’t answer. He just—” He could feel his face heating up again and he’s sure Tsukishima won’t ever let him live it down, but he continues, mumbling under his breath, “Hejustkissedme.”

Tsukishima leans closer, tilting his ears towards Tobio. “Hmm? What was that? I didn’t quite hear that.”

This jerk is really testing his limits and it takes all of his willpower not to punch that look off of Tsukishima’s face. Instead, he groans, glaring on the ground, and says in a hushed voice, “He kissed me.”

He casts a sideway glance at Tsukishima. The haughty look on his face is gone, replaced by pure shock and Tobio can’t help but smirk at the stupidity of it. But it’s gone in a blink and Tsukishima is back to his default snarky expression.

“Didn’t know Hinata is that forward. I thought that was you, King, what with the way you look at Hinata like you’re going to eat him.”

If his face is red before, he doesn’t even know what color it is now; the heat so intense, he could feel it radiate from his skin. “Wh-what’s that supposed to mean?!”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes and Tobio has to resist the urge to poke them from behind his stupid glasses. “It means, that Hinata had you beat. You might’ve confessed first but kissing is like two steps ahead of that, so he wins.” He smirks. “You need to step up your game, King, but don’t get too rough. He’s still our ace and our team needs him fully functioning.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?!?” Tobio shrieks, his entire body flaming at the mere suggestion and his mind is starting to wander into dangerous places.

“Whatever you want it to mean,” Tsukishima says, deadpan. He stands just as the whistle signaling the end of the break echoes through their gym. Tobio follows suit, swigging a final drink from his water bottle, attempting to cool off the heat that is no doubt still on the entirety of his face (and admittedly, on other parts as well). 

They walk towards where the coach is calling for a huddle and it just might be his imagination, but he’s fairly sure he hears Tsukishima mutters a hushed, “Good for you,” before he stalks over at Yamaguchi’s side.

 

* * *

 

With another resigned sigh, Tobio snaps his phone shut. He’s been contemplating whether to call Hinata or not; he hasn’t heard from him since that morning and he’s worried that his cold got worse or his sickness might be another thing entirely. But he looked relatively better when he visited him, although he did appear sluggish and sort-of in a daze, all smiley and giggly, cheeks rosy and just like that, his train of thought advances to _that_ moment and his face flushes instantly, the beginnings of a smile taking shape.

“You’ve been acting weird since yesterday, Tobio.”

He instantly snaps his attention to his mother sitting in her chair across from him. She’s regarding him with skepticism but her eyes are dancing with amusement and curiosity. He quickly averts his gaze and presses his mouth into a thin line, faking interest on the game show they’re supposed to be watching.

“I’m not,” he mumbles, pocketing his phone quickly.

His mother just hums in response and returns her attention on the TV. They watched in awkward silence for a full minute before her mom speaks up again, starting the dreaded interrogation Tobio is suspecting.

“Did you and Hinata-kun made up?” she asks, eyes still peeled on the television, although there’s a small smile playing on her lips.

He stiffens in his seat, trying not to let anything show on his face. “We’re not even fighting.”

A chuckle and his mother finally looks at him. “Since when are you two not fighting?” She lowers the volume of the TV and faces Tobio. “Hinata-kun hasn’t come over as often as before and you always seem to be in a bad mood, holing up in your room all night. The only two instances you act like that is when you can’t play volleyball or whenever Hinata-kun is involved.”

“Because he’s a dumbass that pisses me off.”

“Language, Tobio,” she warns, face stern, but it softens as she continues, “But you’re also the happiest when you get to play volleyball and whenever Hinata-kun is involved. Or a combination of both.”

Tobio splutters and his mother laughs at him again. Her eyes are gleaming in delight. “So, would you mind telling your mother whatever is going on between you two?’

Instantly, his face burned red, crawling all the way down to his neck. He tries to bury his face on his hoodie in a pathetic attempt to cover his tomato-red face. It’s times like this that he resents his stature; if he’s a little smaller, he can shrink beneath the coach, along with his embarrassment.

“N-nothing is going on between us. We’re still friends if that’s what you’re asking,” he mumbles behind the collar of his hoodie.

He risks a glance at her from the corner of his eyes. She sips from her mug and smiles at him. “Hmm. Good to know then.” Picking up the remote, she raises the volume, her attention back on the game show.

No one says a word for another agonizing minute and Tobio starts to slowly disentangle himself from the curled-up position he’s in, using the opportunity to escape from his mother’s further questioning, which he knows isn’t over yet. But she starts speaking again before he can rush out of the living room.

“You visited him yesterday, right? You said he was sick.”

“Yes. I—uhh—gave him the homework and the notes of the stuff he missed in our classes.”

“Hmm. You didn’t today.”

“We had the same topic and it was all in the notes and—” _And I don’t think I’m ready to face him yet after what happened yesterday._ “—I don’t want to bother him while he’s still recovering.”

His mother quirks a brow at him, like she’s waiting for Tobio to say something else, then she sighs and takes another sip of her tea. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Tobio answers quickly. He begins to stand, silently pleading that she’s done with her little interrogation. “I need to wake up early tomorrow. So—uhm—I’m going to bed.”

“Okay, then. Good night, Tobio.”

“Good night, Mom.”

He’s on the third step of the stairs when his mother calls him up again, turning around to face Tobio, voice soft, a contrast to her teasing earlier, as she says, “Invite Hinata-kun over after Golden Week, okay? I kind of miss having him around.”

Giving her a quick nod, he responds, “I will.”

With one final smile, she dismisses Tobio with a wave of her hand, eyes back on her game show, laughing, the sound ringing across the hallway before he closes his bedroom door shut.

He flops down on his stomach on his bed and takes out his phone from his pocket, flipping it open and after a moment of hesitation, starts typing then furiously deletes it. He stares at the blinking cursor as if willing it to type the right words for him. Groaning in frustration, he re-types what he’d deleted and hits the send button before he can think too much about it.

 

**To: Hinata Shouyou**

**Re: (No Subject)**

**9:13PM**

How are you?

 

Then, he adds, for good measure.

 

**To: Hinata Shouyou**

**Re: (No Subject)**

**9:13PM**

Dumbass.

 

He closes his phone, letting it fall helplessly from his hand, landing with a soft thud on his sheets. He rolls on his back and stares at the ceiling and as if his body has a mind of its own, a dopey grin is starting to form, his mother’s question just a while ago whirling inside his head.

_“…whatever is going on between you two?”_

In all honesty, Tobio doesn’t have a clue either. He knows he should ask Hinata about it, if that kiss means what he thinks it means, as some sort of confirmation, because as much as it makes him stupidly happy, heart beating restlessly at the plain thought of it, he can’t shake this nagging feeling of doubt worming through all the cloud of euphoria he’s in, slowly dragging him down back to the ground. There’s this small part of him silently pleading, telling him that he shouldn’t be this happy or optimistic about all this, that something doesn’t quite feel right—like the calm before the storm. That he’s being selfish again, becoming greedy from a simple, innocent kiss that may or may not mean something.

But just this once, he’s willing to break all those walls down, all those worries and self-doubt he’s imposing. He wants this indescribable feeling to be real, he wants it to linger, to lasts for as long as it allows him.

A beep wakes him from his musings and Tobio scrambles to retrieve his phone, buried somewhere under the sheets. With shaking hands and a deep breath, he flips it open.

 

**From: Hinata Shouyou**

**Re: (No Subject)**

**9:20PM**

I’m all good! Fully recovered! I’m going back to school tomorrow.

 

**To: Hinata Shouyou**

**Re: (No Subject)**

**9:22PM**

Good.

 

Tobio’s thumb is ghosting over the call button. He could ask him right now, to ease the wave of anxiety washing over him once and for all. But he decides against it; he doesn’t want to appear pushy and overbearing, even if it completely contradicts what his instinct is urging him to do.

 

**From: Hinata Shouyou**

**Re: (No Subject)**

**9:25PM**

I’ll train super hard to make up for my missed practices!

 

**To: Hinata Shouyou**

**Re: (No Subject)**

**9:27PM**

Don’t overwork yourself, idiot. You just recovered.

 

**From: Hinata Shouyou**

**Re: (No Subject)**

**9:30PM**

That’s soooo not you, Bakageyama! Since when are you allowing me to slack off?

 

Before Tobio could type out a reply, another message comes through.

 

**From: Hinata Shouyou**

**Re: (No Subject)**

**9:31PM**

Kageyama…

 

His heart and breathing stop altogether, then his pulse quickens, he could hear it pumping in his ears.

 

**To: Hinata Shouyou**

**Re: (No Subject)**

**9:32PM**

What?

 

Tobio is expecting Hinata to reply immediately like he always does, but ten minutes passed and there’s still no sign of a reply. He scrolls back to their conversation; nothing seems to be wrong, but he couldn’t help the unease budding in his chest as he waits for Hinata’s reply.

When his phone beeps, he tentatively opens the message.

 

**From: Hinata Shouyou**

**Re: (No Subject)**

**9:45PM**

Nothing. Hahaha. Sorry.

 

**From: Hinata Shouyou**

**Re: (No Subject)**

**9:46PM**

Ahhh~ It’s getting late. Time to sleep, Bakageyama. Need to be bright and early tomorrow! :)

 

Tobio’s lips curls into a frown. That was…weird, even by Hinata’s standards. It takes all of his willpower not to call him (Hinata does need his rest), instead responding with a simple _‘Good night.’_ When Hinata didn't reply even after half an hour passed, Tobio settles in his bed and closes his eyes, trying to persuade himself that all the questions wandering in his listless mind will make sense once he sees Hinata in the morning.

 

* * *

 

A few pebbles skip off the curb as Tobio kicks his sneakers on the dirt. He clutches his phone in his pocket, resisting the impulse to check the time for probably the tenth occasion since he arrived fifteen minutes ago, standing like an idiot by the metal railings across the school gates.

He kicks another pebble in a pitiful attempt to calm his frazzled nerves, his clammy hands shaking uncontrollably, his heart thudding like a drum. He’s never been this nervous before, not even during a game, and a part of that annoys him.

Turning away from the road, he leans on the railings overlooking the town, the beginning rays of the sun peeking behind the mountains. He remembers the night before their match against Shiratorizawa way back first year, him and Hinata on this exact same spot. He can’t quite recall what they talked about exactly—something about their upcoming match, he thinks—but he can evoke in exact detail the way Hinata looked up at him, amber eyes sparkling underneath the night sky. And he remembers how bad he wanted to kiss him right then. Huh, now that he thinks about it, that might be the first time he had the sudden, almost uncontrollable urge to touch Hinata, how it took all of his self-control not to grab his annoying (ly cute) little face and close the distance between them. How his fingers twitched inside the pocket of his jacket and in an ingenious effort for a reprieve, he settled for a fist bump.

When he hears the familiar _click click click_ of a bike, he turns his head towards the sound so fast he gives himself whiplash. Hinata sees him and waves, smiling widely. Tobio waves back, hoping that Hinata won’t notice the trembling of his hand.

Hinata skids into a stop in front of Tobio, still grinning like a maniac. “Good morning, Kageyama-kun!”

Realizing he still has his hand raised, he immediately drops it back down and shoves it inside his pocket. The tips of his ears are starting to warm and he adjusts his scarf to hide them. “Morning,” he mumbles, struggling to stop the warmth starting to spread across his face.

If possible, Hinata grins even wider. “Were you waiting for me, Kageyama-kun?” he says, a teasing lilt to his voice as he nudges Tobio with his elbow.

Why does it feel like Tobio is the only one on edge? Hinata looks and acts normal (maybe a bit too cheery this early in the morning, but this is _Hinata_ ), like everything is nothing but the ordinary, as if there’s not a veil of tension between them that needs to be dispelled, stat. Or maybe it’s just Tobio and he should, in Tsukishima’s words, lighten up, because he’s needlessly ruining what could be a perfect day (if things go well).

Tobio studies Hinata and much to his shock, Hinata flinches, face visibly paling and he looks terrified for a second but then he averts his gaze and laughs nervously, fidgeting with his handlebars “Heh. I’m just joking. No need to get mad.”

Puzzled, Tobio cocks his head sideways. “I’m not mad.”

Hinata is still not looking at him, still clutching and unclutching his handlebars as he mutters, “You look mad.”

“I’m—” Tobio notices it, feels it, before his next words fall out of his mouth. As per _fucking_ usual, his facial muscles get the better of him. He must’ve been frowning out of frustration with himself without realizing.

“I’m not mad,” he insists, trying to keep his tone and face as neutral as possible. “And I was.”

Hinata finally looks up at him, brows raised in query. “You were what?”

“Waiting for you.”

All the color returns in Hinata’s face—maybe too much color. It went from pink to red in a millisecond. He stares back at Tobio, mouth slightly open, pink lips  forming a small ‘o.’ Tobio's gaze lingers on those lips far longer than necessary.

The morning light hits Hinata, illuminating every part of him perfectly, and Tobio’s feet move as if he’s being pulled, like a moth drawn to a flame.

“Hinata—”

“Ah! Let’s get going, Kageyama!” Hinata exclaims as he breaks eye contact, turning his bike towards the school, foot ready to pedal. “You got the keys, right? You go on ahead, I’ll park my bike first.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No need! You can start setting up.” He’s now completely turned away from Tobio, then he says over his shoulders, grinning, “Vice-captain’s orders!”

Tobio can only watch as Hinata swiftly pedals away, a half-formed protest dying in his throat.

 

* * *

 

All throughout the day, Tobio’s attempts to be alone with Hinata all end in failure. It’s not like Hinata is purposely avoiding him, they’re joined by the hip as they always are—just never the two of them alone. Something always seems to be in getting in his way, like the universe is covertly plotting against him as soon as he tries.

Morning practice. Everyone (except Tsukishima, who smirked at Tobio the entire time, the jerk) hover around Hinata the instant they took sight of him, asking if he’s alright, clamoring about how they missed him ( _it’s just two fucking days, you dramatic little_ —okay, Tobio missed him, too), and practically clings on him the rest of practice.

Lunch. The five of them spend it as usual and Tobio is not _that_ eager to just spring that type of conversation in front of their friends so he keeps his mouth shut, silently gobbling down his lunch as he listens to Hinata and Yamaguchi prattle on about some band or some other thing.

Afternoon practice. Everyone’s focus is on playing—Golden Week is two days away, which means Nekoma is coming, which means practice is going to be twice as grueling, thrice as demanding, and Tobio relishes every minute of it, the dilemma eating his patience the entire day temporarily forgotten.

The thought doesn’t reel back in until he realizes that Hinata is alone with him inside the clubroom, both of them slipping on their jackets in silence.

His heart starts speeding up, its beats booming so loud in his ears, and he prays that Hinata can’t hear it as they walk together towards the bike stand. There’s a considerable distance between them, just barely enough, and Tobio’s hand itches to reach out and grab Hinata’s swinging hand on his own.

He knows he should start talking, but the resolve he’s been carrying all day starts to dismantle, his throat closing up. Hinata starts babbling about something as he unlocks his bike, he could hear him, but he can’t make out the words; he’s too busy trying to build his courage, frantically grasping at his quickly disappearing confidence.

_Damn it._

“Kageyama.”

Tobio jolts out of his anxious thoughts and glances at Hinata on his side. “Wha—” he starts to say, but his throat has been dry all this time and his voice breaks. Clearing his throat, he tries again, “What?”

Hinata stares back up at him, face scrunched up in skepticism. “Were you even listening to me?”

“Sorry, I—"

Hinata chuckles. “Oh, chill. It was nothing.”

Tobio slows his pace until he comes into a stop. “I wasn’t listening,” he affirms, voice resolute, and Hinata halts from wheeling his bike. Tobio steps closer. “What were you saying?”

Hinata just stares blankly at him then he laughs, one hand clutching his stomach as he steadies his bike with the other. “What are you so serious about, Bakageyama? I was just saying how the notes helped me for the test today.”

At the mention of _‘notes,’_ Tobio jolts in place, a chill running up his spine. _Holy shit_ , this is it. Either Hinata just unconsciously brought it up or he’s actually capable in the art of subtlety than he lets on and this is him initiating the conversation, but _this is fucking it._

“I mean, if it wasn’t for that I would be in trouble. So, thank you.”

“F-for what?”

Hinata dramatically rolls his eyes. “For the notes, duh.” Then, his expression shifts, it goes from teasing to…hesitant. “You brought them, right? The day I got sick.”

He’s trying to make his vocal cords and his brain to _fucking_ cooperate, but his tongue feels like lead inside his mouth and he can only nod. Then he frowns. Something about that sentence doesn’t quite sound right.

“Right? My mom said you visited me.”

Tobio blinks. Twice. Thrice. There’s a buzzing in his ear, getting louder by the second as he tries to wrap his mind around that statement.

“What?”

“Huh?”

“Say that again.”

Hinata’s face crumples into bewilderment, tilting his head sideways. “My mom said…you visited me?” he repeats, voice unsure, eyeing Tobio cautiously.

“Your mom…”

“Yeah? I was asleep the whole afternoon, but she said you dropped by to hand over the notes.”

Tobio could feel the dread filling out his entire system as the nagging suspicion that he stupidly dismissed and ignored all this time crawls its way out, slowly affirming its existence.

“You were…asleep…” He breathes out, not sure if he’s saying it for Hinata to confirm or deny; he hopes for the latter, still grasping at that tiny off-chance that he just misheard, that this is just Hinata messing with him, that—

“Yes, stupid. Why are you repeating what I’m saying? I was sleeping when you came by and I only knew you visited me when I saw the notes and when my mom told me about it. She should’ve woke me up though, maybe I could’ve ordered you to bring me a glass of water or something. Heh, just kidding!”

It’s like falling into an abyss, the ground crashing down on his feet. He feels cold, icy tendrils encasing his entire body as he falls, deeper and deeper, then he lands with a loud, bone-crushing thud, waking him up from the self-induced fantasy he foolishly allowed himself to be in.

He should've seen this coming. Really, what did he expect?

Tobio scoffs. “How stupid.”

 

* * *

 

 

This G O R G E O U S fanart is by the precious bean [@kallstreom](https://kallstreom.tumblr.com/). Follow her on tumblr! (⌒ω⌒)ﾉ

  |    
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry
> 
> It'll get better, I promise. Let them be stupid for a little longer (.❛ ᴗ ❛.)


	9. Out Of My Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kageyama jumps to conclusions
> 
> Yachi gets dragged into the drama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boi, do i have a treat for y'all... 
> 
> A precious, talented angel just made a BEAUTIFUL DOUJIN/COMIC based off the final scenes from chapter 8!!! It's embedded in the [previous chapter ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18686818/chapters/46207054), so go check it out! つ✧ω✧)つ
> 
> LOOK AT THAT LOVELY ART! Ahhhhhhhhh. CAN YOU HEAR MY SCREAMS???
> 
> ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿ヽ(°□° )ノ︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
> 
> Seriously, it's like the scene were pulled right out of my head. It's PERFECT! Now we can see all the pain unfold in all its glory *sobbing*
> 
> [@kallstreom](https://kallstreom.tumblr.com/) i can't thank you enough for this. Really, i never would've imagined someone would actually do a fanart off my fic. I feel so blessed _*cries uncontrollably*_ and I'm beyond grateful to be the inspiration for your art. Also, thank you for indulging all my rants and random screams and for beta-reading this chapter! ILY and THIS CHAPTER IS FOR YOU! ♥️♥️♥️
> 
> Follow [her](https://kallstreom.tumblr.com/) on tumblr you guys! \\(★ω★)/
> 
> ***
> 
> All aboard the feels train towards ANGSTVILLE ~(>_<~) And if you want to intensify the pain by approximately 120%, then I recommend listening to 'Stone Cold' (on repeat) while reading this. Enjoy!

Three days.

That’s how long it took for Tobio to realize that he’s a complete fucking idiot. And maybe a little insane.

He grabs his water bottle from the bench, taking a much-needed break from their drills and takes a long sip, cooling his parched throat. Wiping his mouth and face with a towel, he flops down on the hardwood floor.

Laughter echoes from the other side of the gym and his eyes automatically flickers to the sound. His grip on his bottle tightens, the plastic squeaking under the force.

Hinata talks animatedly to Yachi-san, eyes bright and cheeks a little pink, noticeable even from this distance. He punches the air, probably reenacting something he watched on TV and they both laugh, the mixture of their chirping voice rivaling the twittering of birds outside. Tobio looks away and eyes the now crumpled water bottle in his hand, an accurate representation of what his heart feels right now.

How in the world did he missed it? The way Hinata’s face lights up whenever he talks to Yachi-san, excited but with a hint of bashfulness. The way he always seems to talk _about_ her, crowing about how smart she is, how she’s actually funny, sweet and thoughtful. How he spends all his time with her, especially lately, how genuine his smiles are when he’s with her. It was always _Yacchan_ _this_ , _Yacchan_ _that_.

It was always Yachi-san.

He should have known, or he knew it all along and being the idiot he admittedly is, he tried to ignore it in favor of subconsciously letting himself hope that Hinata could see him more than as a friend, that his one-sided love was reciprocated all along. But now he belatedly realized that Hinata couldn’t see past the bounds of their relationship because someone is already there, standing in front of Tobio. Always have and Tobio didn’t stand a fucking chance. As if there is any to begin with.

Hinata outright said it to his face—he liked someone else. And this is Hinata, if it was Tobio who he liked all along, wouldn’t he have told him by now? Wouldn’t he notice it? And there lies the problem: there is nothing to notice because it wasn’t directed at him in the first place.

That brings him to point number two: he’s straight-up crazy. Or starting to be.

The irrefutable proof? The kiss that didn’t happen.

Tobio was delusional—that’s the only plausible conclusion he could come up with. He imagined the whole thing, from the moment he slid the door open to Hinata’s room, maybe up to the point where he left. Everything in between was just his own mind toying with him, all the pent-up emotions and desires manifesting in the form of a highly realistic hallucination. He didn’t know he had an imagination that wild; he regards himself as a logical person, but insanity must be slowly settling in for him to come up with an illusion so vivid he can recall every excruciating detail.

The only thing that bothers him is that despite his moment of delirium, he was still able to hand over the notes.

But who’s really paying attention to that? The fact remains—he was a complete, utter _dumbass_ who let his guard down, allowing himself even a flicker of hope, hurting himself in the process. This was entirely his own fault, getting carried away like he did. He knew something was off about it, that something doesn’t quite feel right.

Because it wasn’t. It was _wrong_ — _wrong_ to have that kind of thoughts, _wrong_ to let himself harbor any hope, _wrong_ to feel even a pinch of happiness from a moment that didn’t even happen.

 _Wrong_ to still be hopelessly in love with his best friend in spite of all the pain, leaving him cold and hollow, cold tendrils of anger and resentment at himself enveloping his entire being.

Tobio risks another glance at Hinata’s direction—the first years have joined them now, but he noticed how Hinata’s body inclines towards Yachi-san, hanging onto every word she says. How Yachi-san responds with as much enthusiasm, returning Hinata’s smile just as bright. Tobio holds his gaze for as long as possible, ignoring the way his stomach squirms uncomfortably, skin prickling, the tips of his fingers going ice-cold numb as another laughter bursts out of Hinata, the crowd surrounding him following immediately.

When the growing knot in his stomach becomes too much to handle, he looks away and glowers at the floor. Drops of sweat falls from his face, leaving dark blobs on the wooden floor as it soaks through it.

He wants to get angry at Hinata, but as much as he tries, he just can’t (which comes as a surprise). Because why would he? How _could_ he? It’s not as if Hinata purposely played him for a fool, pretending that _that_ didn’t happen. The look of absolute confusion in his eyes were proof enough. And every time he catches a glimpse of those amber eyes, it reminds him of the soft afternoon light washing over two people, enveloping them in a warm bliss, a memory that only existed in fantasy.

Jaw twitching, Tobio grits his teeth, intently shaking the vision out of his deceptive mind.

Practice presses forward without a hitch—it’s halfway through Golden Week and Coach Ukai allows not even a smidgeon of slacking off, his training regimen even stricter and more ruthless than last year’s. Tobio is used to it though, all the third years are, and frankly, he wouldn’t have it any other way. At least it would take his mind off things even a little, dulling the pressing heaviness still on his chest.

They continue their drills, one after the other.

Serve.

Spike.

Block.

Receive.

And it does help, volleyball _always_ helps, and it’s a relief to know that at least he still has this to fall back into, where he can offer every last bit of him, expend the last of his energy, give his entire everything.

(But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t admit he’s willing to do that and more for a certain _someone_.)

The whistle blows and the coach gives his permission to take a break before individual practices, finding a corner to discuss schedules and routines with Takeda-sensei. Collective sighs and relieved groans fill the gym and half of the team collapses on the floor, some on the bench, their managers offering drinks and towels.

Not even five minutes in their break when Hinata comes charging, a ball in his hands, and Tobio immediately knows what words will fall out of Hinata’s mouth.

“Kageyama! Give me a toss!”

At those familiar words and one look at Hinata’s face, Tobio’s feet move out of his own accord, following Hinata into the court.

Every single pair of eyes fixates on them, as if this isn’t something they witness on a daily basis. Tobio doesn’t mind, or rather, he doesn’t care, everything outside the court registers as nothing but a mesh of indistinct shapes and sounds. The only thing of significance is the spiker across from him, the spiker whose movements have been engraved in his mind and soul, merging with his own.

One perfect toss after another, one perfect spike answering every single one of them, the satisfying thumps of the ball as it lands on the wooden floor music in Tobio’s ears. Hinata flies and Tobio’s heart flies with him, soaring past the confines of their small gymnasium, beyond the clouds, through the atmosphere. The feeling never gets old, its novelty never stripping off, as if he was fifteen all over again, tossing to a boy with too much energy for his own good and a passion that rivaled his own.

And when Hinata looks up at him—eyes bright in awe, cheeks slightly pink, a bright smile that emulates the sun—as he shouts for _‘One more!’_ as he always does, is when Tobio understands that he can’t, _won’t_ , trade this for anything in the world. That no matter how much that smile pains him, how it reminds him of a dreamed-up memory he’s desperately trying to forget, it still makes him undeniably happy, to know that despite the bashful smiles and cherry cheeks Hinata reserves and gives to the person he likes, only Tobio could pull this smile from him and it is enough.

Falling in love with Hinata may be a mistake, but it is an inevitability he can’t control.

(And because it’s already established that he’s a fucked-up lunatic, he’ll go all out. He wants Hinata to be happy and seeing him happy is all he wants for him, even if he’s not the reason for it. And maybe if he does this, he’ll have some reprieve and the pain would render him completely numb, freeing him from the still burning embers of feelings inside of him, and if he’s lucky, finally ceasing it to extinction.

Selfish, crazy, _and_ masochistic. Nice.)

 

* * *

 

_Beep_

Tobio hears the hum and rattle of the vending machine as he waits for the drinks to roll out. He grabs them when it does and throws the iced milk coffee at Hinata, keeping the strawberry milk for his own.

“Nice toss.” Hinata grins as he catches the can with one hand. Tobio just snorts and slumps on the couch next to him. He watches as Hinata opens the can with a loud _pop!_ and chugs down its contents, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his throat, a dribble of coffee slipping past his lips and trails down his chin.

He tears his eyes away from the sight before the red starting to gather on his face deepens. He rips the straw from his milk box and punches it open. “We’re about to sleep,” he starts, trying for annoyed but the image of Hinata still drinking from his periphery causes his voice to slightly waver.

Hinata— _fucking finally_ —releases his mouth from the can, drops of coffee dotting the corner of his lips. Tobio’s hand twitches, holding onto the couch’s leather to keep his hand from reaching out and wipe it off of Hinata’s (wet and red and very kis— _goddammit_ , _stop!_ ) lips. He takes a long sip from his milk box.

Hinata quirks his brows at him, swirling his can of coffee with two fingers. “So?”

“Who drinks coffee before going to bed?”

“I do.” And to emphasize his point, Hinata takes another drink, emptying the can and letting out an exaggerated _‘Aaaaaah!’_ then wipes his mouth with his sleeves.

Tobio finishes his milk box and crumples it in his palms. “Weirdo.”

“You’re the weirdo. A giant weirdo baby who still needs to drink milk before going to bed,” Hinata snickers, one hand over his mouth, taunting.

Tobio hurls the crumpled carton at Hinata. With a laugh, Hinata covers his face just before it hits him. Damn him and his reflexes.

“Hey now, no littering! You’re being a bad senpai!”

“Shut up.”

Hinata laughs again as he picks up Tobio’s milk box and lugs it back to him. Too slow, the carton hits his chest before he can deflect it, leaving his shirt slightly wet. Hinata howls, as if he’d witnessed the most hilarious thing in the entire universe.

“Dumbass—!”

Tobio lunges at him and Hinata leaps back with a yelp. They run around the couches, occasionally running _above_ them, and they end up sweaty and panting and with another cold drink in their hands.

They drink in silence after that, the electronic hum and buzz from the vending machine the only sound in the lobby of their small camp house, Tobio’s boxes of milk (he already had three, when did that happen?) cluttered on the coffee table.

“So,” Hinata says, breaking the silence. He’s draped on the couch, his head leaned back, balancing a can on top of his forehead. “What did you want to talk about?”

 _Crap_. Tobio got a bit side-tracked (Hinata’s fault) and momentarily forgot why he invited Hinata for a drink after they set-up their futons. He fidgets with his milk box and he’s half a mind to say nothing and get up and go to bed. But he’s already decided to do this, even if there’s a small voice at the back of his head yelling at him to stop, the burning sensation in his chest seemingly in agreement.

Tobio opens his mouth, then closes it again, as if his body is trying to physically stop him from saying what he’s about to say. But he’s nothing but persistent and thick-headed, so he plows through, ignoring the trembling of his ice-cold hands. “You said you liked someone a while ago.”

A clatter of a can on the ground and Tobio looks up. Hinata stands upright, gawking at Tobio, a trail of water dripping from his forehead. “Wh—w–where did that come from?!”

Tobio raises his brow at him. “From you. You said you liked someone, and that you confessed and got rejected.”

Hinata stares at him, blinking slowly. Then he crosses his arms and pouts. “So? What about it?” He’s trying for petulant but his voice shakes, dampening the effect.

“But you didn’t actually confessed, right?” Tobio presses on and Hinata visibly stiffens, fear washing over his features. Tobio feels a smidge of guilt, that maybe this isn’t how he should approach the conversation (damn it, he’s still so bad at this) and he’s about to change gears when Hinata’s scared expression shifts to that of annoyance, lips curled into a slight frown.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Tobio inches closer, half-sitting on the couch. “Hinata—”

Taking a step back, Hinata glares down at Tobio. “Why are you suddenly bringing this up? Are you trying to make fun of me? Because that’s really messed up, even for you.”

There it is again, that sudden, almost feral aggression from Hinata. It’s disconcerting to see him this way, and although this isn’t the first time he sees him like this, something about the tone of his voice and the way he holds himself, like he’s shielding away from Tobio, tightens the knot inside his ribcage.

“No, I’m not. Just—” Tobio sighs and gestures on the couch, “—just sit down, okay?”

Hinata is still glaring daggers at him but he resigns, returning to his previous seat, his arms still folded across his chest. His eyes darted around, avoiding Tobio’s general direction.

No one says a word for a while, just awkwardly sitting across from each other. Hinata starts chewing at his lips and Tobio’s gaze lingers on it, and his moronic, traitorous mind brings up the made-up memory of Hinata’s soft lips against his. He attempts to whisk it away with a shake of his head.

With a heavy exhale, he glances at Hinata. His eyes are trained on his feet, scuffing his slippers against the floor.

“Do you still like her?” Tobio asks, _still_ asks, even though he already knows the answer. Even though making Hinata affirm it is like a hundred powerful spike directed right through his chest.

Hinata finally looks up at him. His pinched expression softens as he nods timidly. “Yes. Yes, I do.” He lets out a hollow laugh. “I’m pathetic. So, yeah, go ahead. Laugh at me. It _is_ pretty funny.”

Tobio expected it, even braced himself for it, but hearing it in Hinata’s voice, how he sounds and looks vulnerable talking about the person he likes, sends a crashing weight into his lungs, robbing him of air. He feels cold stemming from his chest and it spreads down to the very tips of his toes. But he allows it, urges it on—at least he could feel something other than the pain mercilessly stabbing through his gut.

(But it still fucking hurts.)

Swallowing the lump in his throat, feeling the pain tripled, he continues his game of self-torture. “Is it Yachi-san?”

The silence stretches, Tobio’s question hanging in the air around them, echoing. Hinata just stares blankly at him, unblinking, unmoving, petrified in his seat, and Tobio knows he hit the mark. He’s about to start talking again when he’s interrupted by the loudest, most boisterous laughter he’s ever heard from the boy in front of him and that’s saying something.

Hinata laughs, snorts, chortles—all the possible noises that could come out from his mouth. He doubles over, almost toppling over the couch, his laughter getting louder by the second. Tobio just gawps at him, he didn’t expect Hinata to have this kind of reaction—he’s prepared for the blushing, embarrassed mess he has to deal with.

“Oi, stop laughing, dumbass! The others are already sleeping!” Tobio hisses, grabbing Hinata’s arm, both to shake him off his fit and to keep him from falling over and hurt himself.

It takes a while for Hinata to calm down, and even then he’s still giggling like a deranged idiot, actual tears streaking down his flushed cheeks. He collapses down on the couch, panting, as he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. Then his gaze lowers down to his forearm, and Tobio follows suit. There’s his hand still wrapped around Hinata’s bicep—it’s taut and hard even under his hoodie—and he quickly jerks his hand away. Hinata laughs again.

“I didn’t know you could joke, Kageyama.” Another stream of giggles bursts out of Hinata. “But it’s a good one! Gosh, that was hilarious.”

Tobio scrunches his face into a grimace. “I’m not joking. You obviously like her.” So obvious and he didn’t even noticed until three days ago. What a fucking idiot.

Hinata rolls his eyes. “Of course I like her. She’s my friend. But it’s not the like _like_ you’re talking about.”

Warmth settles over the cold, overwhelming it, beginning to flood through his body, something Tobio could only identify as relief. But as soon as he feels it, he wills it to go away before it spreads and overcomes him. Before he could get used to the feeling. Instead, he allows the cold to take over once again, quickly dousing the soothing (intoxicating) warmth.

“No. You like _like_ her. Don’t deny it, it’s painfully obvious.”

Big brown eyes stare back at him, comically wide. Then it narrows. “No, I don’t.” He draws his gaze away from Tobio’s. “Why are you so interested, anyway?”

Round three in this game of _‘How Long Can Kageyama—A Fucking Idiot—Tobio Handle The Misery’._

“I can—help you.”

The words leave a sour, acrid taste, like tasting vomit and spoiled milk, and he thinks he’s going to be sick. But he steels himself; he made the decision to do this; he has to see this through and nothing will get in the way. Not even the conflicting thoughts battling inside of him, his heart and mind at war. But he’s already chosen a side—he gave in to his heart once and look at where that took him.

Hinata’s jaw drops open and he stays like that for a whole fifteen seconds (Tobio counted) before it snaps close.

“That’s creepy, Kageyama.” Hinata stands and throws his cans in the trash bin. “You’re just sleepy, probably from all that milk. Let’s get going, we have to wake up early to jog, remember?”

He makes his way past the vending machine and Tobio practically closed the distance between them in two long strides, gripping at Hinata’s wrist.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, okay? I really want to help.” He tries to channel as much reassurance in his voice, tightening his hold on Hinata’s wrist, in what he deems as an encouraging gesture.

But Hinata squirms, twisting his hand in an attempt to loosen Tobio’s grasp. “Please, Kageyama, just—just drop it. I don’t need help. I told you, I already got rejected, and it’s _not_ Yacchan. So, _please_ , just stop.”

He looks like he’s on the verge of tears and Tobio hesitantly releases his hold on him. But Tobio remains adamant, and if Hinata’s being stubborn about it, he’s going to be twice as stubborn.

“Hinata, listen. I can help you. I–I want to help you, so just tell me how, okay? You know I’m not good in this area, but if there is anything I can do, tell me.”

A blink and Hinata’s expression hardened, contorting to the angriest look he’s ever seen in him. His eyes are like slits, rigid and cold, the warmth in those amber eyes replaced by smoldering fury. Tobio reluctantly takes a half-step back.

“You want to help?” Hinata positively growls, low and disembodied, like it's coming from somewhere deep within him. Tobio could only nod stupidly.

Hinata edges closer to Tobio, leaning towards his face and _snarls_ , “Then mind your own fucking business and _leave me alone_.”

Tobio remains standing there long after Hinata has gone, and shakily releases the breath he didn’t realize he’s holding. Tingling shiver crawls up his spine, hair rising on the back of his neck, a late reaction from the imposing, positively intimidating aura radiating off from the cheeriest person he knows.

A familiar snarky voice jolts him from where he’s frozen in place.

“What the _hell_ was that?”

He whips his head towards the sound. Tsukishima stands there by the front door, a mixture of disbelief, annoyance, and confusion written across his face. It would’ve been funny if Tobio isn’t in that exact same state.

Tobio shoots him a glare. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to hear whatever the fuck that was.”

Tobio frowns deeper and flops down on the nearest couch. “If you have something sarcastic and _funny_ to say, then say it already.”

Tsukishima regards him, impassive, then he starts to walk. Tobio is about to breathe a sigh of relief but Tsukishima sits across from him, eyeing him dubiously.

“Why are you offering to help Hinata—” Tsukishima halts, face drawn in confusion, and for once, seemingly at a loss for words. “With...Yachi-san? What?”

Tobio sighs. “Because he likes her and I’m his best friend and I want him to be happy.”

Tsukishima blinks owlishly at him then he sneers. “Are you trying to be funny, King? A few days ago you said you confessed, and he kissed you and you’re now _‘all lovey-dovey.’_ “Tsukishima says the last words with mock disgust, putting up air quotations.

 _Damn it._ He forgot about his conversation with Tsukishima, how he practically bragged about it. He could feel his cheeks start to redden in embarrassment. Clasping his hands and leaning his head on it, he subtly tries to hide the blush forming on his face.

“I—” He swallows whatever pride he has left. “It was a mistake. I made a mistake.”

He peeks at Tsukishima behind his folded hands. He’s not looking at him, his eyes fixed on the table, the tiniest knit forming between his brows and it occurs to Tobio that this is Tsukishima trying to wrap his mind about what he just said.

Tsukishima glances up to him, still had that tiny frown on. “You... made a mistake.”

“How many times do I have to say it?” Tobio snaps. “It was all a big fat mistake and I’m a stupid idiot. There, happy, asshole?”

Tsukishima slams his palms on the table, making Tobio flinch in surprise, half from the sudden action, half from the unexpected outburst from his teammate.

“Then what the hell was that the other day?” Tsukishima growls. “You were _disgustingly_ happy, grinning and blushing like a moron and now this?”

Recovering from his shock, Tobio glowers at Tsukishima. “Keep your voice down, jerk. It didn’t happen.”

“What didn’t happen?”

“The kiss.”

When Tsukishima says nothing, just staring at him with a dumbfounded look, he mutters, “And I didn’t confess either.”

The light brown eyes behind glasses bulges, stunned for a second, then it narrows in disdain.

“ _What?”_

“I didn’t confess, and he didn’t kiss me and none of it ever happened. Hinata likes Yachi-san and I’m going to help him. Was that easy enough for you to understand?” Tobio retorts, saying all those words in a single breathe. Hearing it his own voice, the harsh, raw reality of it, makes his stomach churn and tumble unpleasantly.

Tobio stands, ending the conversation (he doesn’t know how much more of this he can take), and he’s halfway through the room when Tsukishima says behind his back.

“You know, Kageyama, I didn’t peg you as someone who’d give up that easy.

He stops dead in his tracks and slowly turns to face Tsukishima. “I’m not giving up.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes and smugly folds his arms across his chest. “Then what do you call whatever it is you’re trying to do?”

“I’m helping him. Them.”

“No, you’re running away. Like you always do when it comes to feelings and actual human emotions. You think this is being selfless?” There’s a hint of anger in Tsukishima’s voice now despite his vacant look. He stands and stalks right up to Tobio and looms over him. “It’s not. You’re still an egocentric _king_ who does what he wants.”

Tobio holds his ground and glares menacingly up at him. “What the hell do you want me to do then? Force myself where I’m not wanted? You think I haven’t tried?”

Tsukishima chuckles without humor, stepping away from his space. “Do you seriously believe that? You just admitted literally five minutes ago that you didn’t confess. You think that’s trying?” He throws his hands up. “And what the _hell_ do you mean by that? How do you confess by mistake?”

The vision comes up, every torturous detail playing like a movie in his mind, every sensation prickling under his skin, and he screws his eyes shut, pushing the image out of his head, back to the nothingness where it belongs.

He opens his eyes and stares pointedly at the floor. He could feel himself shaking and he clenches his fist tightly, willing himself to stay _fucking_ still, to have some semblance of control. If Tsukishima notices his trembling, he doesn’t comment on it.

“It just is,” Tobio breathes out. He doesn’t even have the mental strength to argue. Exhaustion from the day seeps through his bones, physically and emotionally draining him and he just wants to curl up in his futon and bury himself under the blanket—at least he doesn’t have to feel anything when he’s asleep.

He pivots from Tsukishima and starts to make his way out of the lobby.

“I didn’t realize you could be this astoundingly stupid.” He hears Tsukishima say, voice dripping with aggravation. Then, a resigned sigh. “Fine, do whatever you want. Do whatever bullshit you’re trying to accomplish. Just make sure not to drag the team in your idiocy.”

Tobio leaves the room and Tsukishima with a loud bang as he closes the door shut.

 

* * *

 

Hinata greets him as usual in the morning, apparently okay despite the shitty way their conversation ended the night before. Tobio awkwardly greets him back, as casually as he can. He was, in truth, a little concerned that things will be uncomfortable and weird, noting the way Hinata reacted, so it’s quite a relief to know that things are, more or less, normal between them. Or as normal as it can get, in Tobio’s case.

Still, he doesn’t broach the subject again, he’s afraid of unintentionally compromising the safe bubble they’re in right now. He has to thread through this carefully, meticulously.

They’re the only ones already up, doing warm-up exercises before their routine morning jog. Sharp chills pierce through his parka, making Tobio shiver slightly. _It’s way too early_ , he muses, staring up the purplish-blue sky, the sun yet to be seen.

Well, the one in the sky at least.

“Hey,” Hinata starts, voice strained as he performs lunges. “Wanna race?”

Tobio stands, finishing his leg stretches, and smirks. “Prepare to lose, dumbass.”

No _‘go’_ signal, no cue, just a joint impulse to run, their shoes thumping against the pavement, resonating against the stillness of the dawn. The wind slaps harshly against Tobio’s face, leaving a hint of moisture. He takes no notice of it, focusing instead on the timing of his breathing, clouds of air forming as he exhales.

He glances at Hinata on his side. He’s gaining speed, slowly overtaking Tobio and no way in hell is he allowing that. He quickened his pace, garnering a not-that-much gap ahead, but still, progress.

“Too slow,” Tobio taunts, snickering, both to annoy and provoke.

Hinata grunts, short legs pumping faster. “Not today, Bakageyama!” he huffs and with a loud yell, dashed into an all-out sprint.

“Oi!”

“Haha! Who’s slow now?”

Willing his legs to go faster, he bolts at top speed, closing the distance between, letting out a yell of his own. He catches up in no time, shoving Hinata out of the way.

They continue their race just like that—with no one gaining a significant lead, nudging and bumping, throwing insults and banters back and forth. Tobio indulges every millisecond, committing the warm, contented feeling to memory, the adrenaline rushing through his veins, sparking every nerve in his body, the erratic but satisfying pounding of his heart making him feel alive. Because he knows it won’t last, that everything will fade away as soon as the race stops, as soon as the only person who’s always been there before, suddenly isn’t.

By the time they head back to the gym, the rest of the team is already up, preparing for their own morning run. Coach Ukai waves at them from a distance; he’s used to this by now, and they waved back in unison, shouting a greeting as they bound closer.

Hinata grabs the opportunity, the little shit, and with a haphazard nudge on Tobio’s side, he flashes past him, laughing as he goes, the cheers from their spectators egging him on.

Bending with both arms on his knees, Tobio pants heavily, filling his lungs with much needed air. Hinata is on the ground, spread-eagled, panting just as hard.

“I win,” Hinata wheezes in between heavy breathing, one quivering arm raised in a fist.

“You—ha—cheated.”

Hinata scowls at him from where he lies on the ground before getting up by his elbows, still trying to catch his breath. Tobio offers his hand out and Hinata takes it in a beat and he pulls him upright.

Their faces are mere centimeters apart, Tobio could feel Hinata’s warmth emitting off his skin, his hand still circled around his wrist. But not a second too soon and Hinata pulls away with a grin.

“Thanks!” he beams as he brushes himself off to remove the dirt from where he laid down. He’s struggling to reach behind him, bending himself every which way, making all sorts of frustrated noises.

Tobio moves forward to help when Hinata faces the other way, his lips curving into a smile, and Tobio knows who Hinata would rather accept help with.

“Yacchan! Can you help me get the dirt off my back? Here, use my towel!”

Tobio takes a step back.

He watches Hinata and Yachi-san like a hawk for the rest of the day, looking for a hint, a clue, a... _something_ to prove that his hunches are right. Hinata acts fairly obvious, judging by the way he smiles warmly at her, how happy he looks whenever he’s with her.

A gut-wrenching pain shoots through his chest—Hinata used to smile at him like that, maybe not exactly the way he looks at Yachi-san, but just as warm and genuine, back when things were good, when he wasn’t overrun by his emotions, selfishly grasping at something he couldn’t have. Back when being around Hinata feels natural and effortless, not the unsettling, awkward air suddenly hovering between them and he knows it’s mainly his fault. It’s like standing in the middle of a rickety bridge—one wrong move, one clumsy misstep, and two years of everything would crumble and fall apart.

He continues his covert observation, mostly on Yachi-san. He has this gut feeling, the possibility that Yachi-san likes Hinata back, or if not then, she might like him now. Hinata is just the type of person you couldn't really hate (it would be like hating the sun for shining or something) and couldn't help but to love—at least _he_ can attest to that.

If he could just find a definite proof from Yachi-san, then he'll do whatever he can to help. And even though Hinata told him to stay out of it, he'd already made the resolve to do this. For Hinata.

For himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this becoming too obnoxious for you yet? (￢_￢;)
> 
> If so, then...I'll give you even more pain and suffering!
> 
> The next chapter will be an early update!! ヽ(o＾▽＾o)ノ I've been so motivated this past week and the ideas just keeps coming. Also because of you wonderful readers who inspire me and never fail to make me smile by all your reactions and comments, so keep 'em coming! And of course, THAT ART! Still can't get over it (Let's look at it again for the millionth time)!!


	10. Smoke and Mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kageyama is a lying piece of shit
> 
> Yachi is enjoying the drama
> 
> Tsukki is DONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, an early update (⌒‿⌒) or more like on schedule lol. 
> 
> Ahem there's a teeny tiny bit of soft (awkward) fluff in the beginning. Let's give them (me) a little break, okay?
> 
> Although you might actually kill me after this chapter〣( ºΔº )〣
> 
> ***
> 
> Thanks again @kallstreom for taking time to beta this chapter 😘

Deciding to do it is one thing; actually carrying it out is another.

All throughout practice, Tobio racks his brain trying to figure out a way on how to prove his suspicions. And although the majority of his focus is on volleyball, _obviously_ , the problem still dwells at the back of his mind, slowly eating away whatever is left of his brain cells.

Only one solution comes to mind: ask Yachi-san directly. Blunt. To the point. But just the mere thought of it clamps his throat tight, dry as a bone.

On any other circumstances, he would’ve no qualms with it; he’s been told he’s got no filter in saying what he wants to say, tactless even in the most sensitive situations. But this is completely different. How do you go about asking the person your best friend likes—who _you_ like—if they like your best friend back? It’s turning his brain into nothing but a bedeviled mush just thinking about it.

But that’s just one part of the problem. For all the convincing he’s done, for all the resolve he forced upon himself, there’s still a piece of him protesting in defiance, making him doubt this decision, holding him back. Either it’s his selfishness or egotism. Or both. Or maybe Tsukishima’s words struck a cord—that all of this is just bullshit.

Or it’s nothing but plain bitter jealousy.

He’s occupied with these blustering thoughts around his head, unable to do or think of anything except to observe Yachi-san and he doesn’t even realize the day is over and he’s still got no fucking clue on what to do.

Tobio sits on the bench and starts pulling his supporters off his knee.  He watches as a few first years unties the net from the poles, Yamaguchi yelling out instructions as they go. The rest of the team runs back and forth around the gym, picking up balls, or wiping the floor clean of sweat and dirt.

With a weary sigh, Hinata sprawls on the floor directly below Tobio. He wipes his sweaty face and the back of his neck with his soaked shirt. Tobio tries not to let his gaze wander on the curve of his neck, beads of sweat glistening against his pale skin, to the thin shirt sticking to his back, highlighting the contours of his muscles.

Emphasis on _tries_.

Tobio forcibly peels his gaze away before the heat starting to flood his face decides to travel to unwanted places.

“Where’s your towel?” Tobio quips and Hinata flinches, the hand clutching the hem of his shirt stopping mid way (much to Tobio's relief, definitely _not_ disappointment).

Hinata faces him and says with a shrug. “It got dirty from earlier and Yacchan said she’ll wash it.”

“You don’t have an extra?”

“I do! I just—” He squirms then pouts, voice lowering to a mumble, “—forgot it back at the camp house.” He continues using his shirt as a makeshift towel.

With a click of his tongue, Tobio grabs a towel from his duffel bag. He chucks it at Hinata’s face, earning a startled yelp.

“Wipe your sweat properly, dumbass. You want to get sick again?” Tobio chides as he pulls out another to use for himself.

Hinata yanks the towel off his face. “Do you just carry around a bunch of towels or something?”

“Shut up. At least I never forget to bring an extra unlike some dumb idiot,” Tobio snaps. He always carries a spare or two ever since that one time during second year when Hinata forgot his towel and ended up with a mild cold the next day. He doesn't need to know that piece of information though.

Hinata answers him with an indignant huff. He spreads the towel, inspecting it and eyes Tobio skeptically. “It’s clean, right?”

Tobio bristles. “Of course it’s clean, idiot! If you don’t want it—” He grabs for his towel but Hinata stretches his hand up, away from Tobio’s reach and grins widely.

“Nope! I want it even if it’s dirty. Thanks!” He proceeds to scrub his face with vigor, his face reddening with friction.

“That’s gross.”

Hinata laughs, muffled by the towel. “Of course, it is!” He peers at Tobio, his face half-covered. “It’s yours.”

Something about the way Hinata said _‘yours’_ makes his heart skip a beat for a full  two seconds before throbbing erratically inside his chest. It sounds so tender and wistful, and _damn_ him if he doesn’t admit it, painfully sweet. Almost like—

“What’s with that weird look?”

He slips out of his headspace at the inquiry. Hinata is staring up at him, face drawn into puzzlement, brown eyes wide. Tobio sees his reflection in those orbs, clear as a mirror, as if Hinata is memorizing everything about him, taking in all of Tobio and he could feel himself getting drawn into the warm mesmerizing gaze.

A blink and Hinata breaks eye contact, fixating instead on Tobio’s towel in his hands. “I—uhh—” He fidgets with the towel and quickly covers his face with it, but not before Tobio notices the pink dusting his cheeks.

His own face flushes, the tips of his ears getting warm. He grabs his own towel and pretends to wipe his face, a paltry attempt to hide the violent blush indubitably starting to form.

What the _fuck_ was that?

Tobio takes a peek at Hinata from behind his towel. He has his eyes shut tight, creases forming between his brows and nose. He clutches Tobio’s towel with both hands, gripping it so hard his knuckles are turning white.

Then his eyes snap open and Tobio hides his face back in the towel, still feigning to clean off nonexistent sweat. His skin starts to burn by his excessive scrubbing.

“Uhm—” Hinata mumbles, too faint to hear but Tobio is highly attuned to him right now he can feel even his tiniest movement, every intake of breath.

He faces Hinata, praying that the blush has subdued by now (or got worse, with all the towel-rubbing he's been doing). Hinata’s not looking directly at him though, gaze hovering past Tobio’s shoulders. Tobio opens his mouth to speak, the same time Hinata does.

“I’m—”

“That was—”

“Hey, lovebirds! Get your lazy asses in here and help clean up!”

They jolt in unison at the coach's booming voice reverberating throughout the gym. Tobio hears Tsukishima snort and he immediately shoots him a deadly glare, or what he can muster at the moment. He’s admittedly in a muddled, almost trance-like state and the gears inside his head are still trying to catch up. The jerk just regards him with a vacant look and shakes his head before walking away.

“T-thanks for the towel. Uhh—here!” Hinata thrusts the fabric in his hand and scampers off, almost tripping as he approaches the second years mopping the floor.

Tobio stares at the towel in his hand, wrinkled and a little damp from when Hinata used it. It’s warm and although it’s a weird thing to notice, smells like a combination of his mom’s detergent and Hinata. He’s fiddling with it mindlessly, feeling the soft fabric under his fingertips when he hears another suppressed laugh.

Scowling, he whips his head, a scalding retort ready. But his frown instantly slackens, the words dying in his throat, at the amused look on Yachi-san’s face, her lips pressed tight, cheeks puffed up, obviously trying not to burst out laughing.

Tobio gawks at her expression, unsure of what to feel. Yachi-san clears her throat, trying to rearrange her face into a neutral one, then with one last playful smile directed at Tobio, she stalks off, carrying an armful of water bottles.

What the _actual fuck_ was that?

 

* * *

 

“Hinata-senpai, is Nekoma really good?”

“Of course, they are! They’re not our rivals for nothing! They can do some crazy awesome receives, like _shwoop!_ Oh! And they got this tall guy named Lev, he’s half-Japanese, half-Russian, by the way, and he jumps high like _bwosssh!_ and he’s fast too, like _shwoooom!_ ”

“Woah! Is he as fast as you?”

“Nope! I still win! No one can beat me when it comes to speed!”

“Wow, conceited much?”

“Shut up, Tsukishima!”

Wild laughter follows and Tobio tries to tune out the babbling. He’s keeping to himself in his own futon, filing his nails in silence. But admittedly, half of his attention is somewhere else, his eyes flickering every so often to the group.

He steal glances at Hinata—looking smug as hell as he recounts all the _‘super awesome’_ plays he’s done. When he hears him mention his name, next to the word _‘amazing,’_ his ears perk up, pulse thrumming five times its normal pace. An uncontrollable wobbly smile forces its way on his lips.

He suddenly caught sight of Tsukishima, staring straight at him, his usual poker face on but his eyes hold a certain glint of something—an amalgam of exasperation and ironically, just a tiny hint of concern. Tobio's smile immediately falters, replaced by a deep frown and a murderous glare at Tsukishima’s direction.

At that, the weird look Tsukishima’s giving him vanishes, his lips pulling into a devilish smirk, and Tobio knows nothing good could possibly sprout from that snarky mouth. He stops his filing and puts the nail file away, chucking it back to his bag before he uses it to stab someone, particularly those with blonde hair and wears glasses.

“How about we talk about something that isn’t volleyball for a change?” Tsukishima suggests, loud enough for everyone to hear, even the ones not in their little circle.

He’s got a bad feeling about this.

“Like what?” Hinata asks, genuinely puzzled but his tone lilts with curiosity. Several heads turn to Tsukishima, equally intrigued.

Tsukishima returns his gaze at Tobio, staring him down in challenge, daring him to intervene. When he doesn’t, the bastard returns his attention to his audience. “Girls. Or boys. Whatever floats your boat,” he says with a nonchalant shrug, voice even louder.

A collective gasp follows suit, which quickly turns to excited noises and incoherent chatters, their small group increasing until the whole team, except Tobio, is huddled around Tsukishima.

“Oooh! I didn’t know you’re interested in that, Tsukki-senpai!” Takumi, one of the second years, gawks, looking up Tsukishima in reverie, as if he had just told them he’s the volleyball god or something.

“Shut up, Takumi. And don’t call me that.”

“Okay! Tsukki-senpai!”

Another round of boisterous laughs. Tobio disentangles his limbs from his seating position, getting ready to get the _fuck_ out of here, right this _fucking_ instance before—

“Oh, why don’t you join us, _King_? You’re Mr. Popular, aren’t you? Maybe you can give us lowly commoners some tips.”

“No, thanks,” he mumbles through clenched jaw, his hands twitching on his side.

“Aw, come on, don’t be such a spoilsport,” Tsukishima jeers, jutting his chin out. “You’re being a bad senpai right now.”

“Tsukki—” Yamaguchi starts, tentatively shaking Tsukishima’s shoulders. The latter ignores it and continues his derision at Tobio’s expense.

“This is all for fun. You can use some of that.”

He’s seconds away from lunging at Tsukishima and knock his stupid glasses off his even more stupid face. Just what the hell is he trying to pull here? But he restrains himself; it would raise a lot of suspicion if he reacts in exaggeration.

“Tsukki.” More insistent this time and Yamaguchi’s visibly squeezes his best friend’s shoulders. Hard.

They share a look, a silent argument transpiring between them. But when Yamaguchi exhales in defeat and removes his hand from Tsukishima’s shoulders, Tobio is sure he’s beyond saving.

Tsukishima raises one brow at him, provoking, and Tobio scowls back. The tension is palpable, cackles of electricity giving off the smell of ozone it's almost suffocating.

To hell with it.

With a resigned sigh, Tobio flops down between Takeuchi and Oda, both of them quick to make space. The corner of Tsukishima’s mouth quirks up, looking so damn pleased with himself.

Every pair of eyes are trained on him, except for one. Hinata is unusually quiet, twiddling with the sheets of his futon. Tobio’s frown deepens—if there’s anyone he expects to be excited by this type of conversation, it’s Hinata.

Ah, that’s right. He supposedly got rejected. At least he’s not the only one dying in agony and discomfort, desperately willing the floor to swallow him whole.

“All right.” Tsukishima claps his hands in a display of mock excitement. His narrowed eyes roam around the circle, like an eagle searching for a prey. “So, Hirano, is there someone you like?”

Their second-year libero sticks his chest out and with a smug grin, declares, “Of course! I have a girlfriend!”

 _‘Oooohs’_ and _‘aaaaahs’_ fills the room, and they crowd over Hirano, bombarding him with questions, one less innocent than the last. Tobio rolls his eyes in chagrin, shutting them off—he doesn’t want to hear all the vulgar, boorish details of Hirano’s… activities with his girlfriend. And truthfully, he feels bad for the girl.

"Woah! You guys are wild!"

"Right? One time we used this—"

“Okay, that’s enough,” Tsukishima snaps, and for once, Tobio agrees. “Let’s move on.”

One after another, Tsukishima picks off his victim. Even Yamaguchi isn’t spared, and when he admits that he’s got a crush, a raucous hooting follows, along with encouragement that they’d support their captain. They’re deeply engrossed in their teasing and roughhousing, they didn’t even notice that the one who’s supposed to be the loudest at this point is still uncharacteristically quiet.

Hinata just sits there, occasionally laughing along, but it sounds half-hearted, stiff. It’s a surprise no one commented on Hinata’s lack of participation.

Tsukishima’s gaze stops on Tobio with a wicked grin.

“Your turn, _King_ ,” Tsukishima says and all heads veers on his direction. Save for one, eyes cast down picking loose threads on his shorts.

Tobio glowers at Tsukishima. “What?”

“Do you like someone?”

His blood runs cold, icicles forming, perforating right through his skin. He expected the question; it’s the same goddamn question Tsukishima asked the others. But being put on the spot like this, as if he’s trapped inside a glass on full display, vulnerable for everyone to see, makes him tremble like a dried out leaf, it’s a miracle they haven’t noticed.

His gaze shifted and honey brown eyes met his. And even though there’s at least a meter of distance between them, he could see his image being reflected, an echo of that look earlier. The orbs stare back at him with deep intent, but underneath that is this other _thing_ , warm and soft and so full of—

Stop. He’s _not_ doing this again. There’s nothing behind those look, except the burning gaze of curiosity, like every other set of eyes on him right now. No hidden meaning, no silent message trying to get across. It’s his deceitful mind playing tricks on him again and he won’t fall for it this time. He probably imagined _that_ look earlier, too.

The wall builds itself, one sturdy brick over the other until he feels secure, until the irrepressible feeling threatening to burst out of his chest is restrained, chained down by icy shackles. This is his safe place, behind this barrier, and despite the numbing cold surrounding him, he endures it.

And even though every single soul in the room probably knows, even if it’s just an inkling of an idea or a heard rumor, he’ll continue with his charade, hiding behind his mask of indifference.

He holds his gaze on those brown eyes and lies, voice hollow, robotic,

“No. No, I don’t.”

The sounds of disappointment and shock are nothing but a muffled buzzing in his ears, the shouts garbled and disembodied. Everything around him registers as a blur. He hears nothing, feels nothing, sees nothing.

Except the stabbing pain in his heart, like a rusty jagged knife twisting its way in, deeper and deeper as he watches all the color in those amber eyes slowly fades, all its vibrancy and life leaching out until there’s nothing but a murky, lifeless stare.

Then he hears a laugh, ragged and deep, almost crazed, and Tobio realizes with a start that it's coming from Hinata.

Everyone has gone quiet, Hinata’s broken laughter (if one could even call it that) bouncing off the thin walls, sounding absolutely nothing like his usual exuberant laughs. And it only grows louder, verging on hysterical, until tears start rolling down Hinata's cheeks.

Tobio can only stare numbly as Hinata continues his fit, his body wracking with every heaving laugh and slapping his thighs with fervor it’s bound to sting. When Hinata finally calms down, he wipes his face with the front of his shirt, sighing.

“What?” Hinata asks with a giggle, eyeing them with disbelief. “Nobody thought it was funny?”

Silence.

“Oh, come on! Did you actually expect Kageyama Tobio, King of the _Fucking_ Court—” he gestures with a flourish at Tobio’s direction “—cares about something other than volleyball? Cares about _someone_?” He snorts, shaking his head. “I thought it was pretty funny.”

Someone, probably Yamaguchi, coughs. “Okay! That’s enough now. Time for bed!”

At the captain’s order, everyone wakes from their slaw-jacked state and reluctantly starts moving. But it doesn’t stop them from having dubious looks, specifically at Tobio. He even hears some whispers, mumbles, behind hands,

_‘That was weird, right?’_

_‘Hinata-senpai was scary.’_

_‘I thought Kageyama-senpai—’_

_‘Yeah, me too.’_

_‘Aren’t Kageyama-senpai and Hinata-senpai—’_

_‘Sssshhhh! Do you want to get murdered?’_

Only the four of them remained, unmoving. Yamaguchi stands, waiting for them expectantly. “Come on, guys. We need to be early tomorrow.”

Tobio’s whole body is paralyzed, he can’t move even a single muscle. His eyes are still on Hinata, who’s now standing up, face impassive and cold, as if he wasn’t laughing maniacally like some lunatic just five minutes ago Then Hinata smiles at Yamaguchi, and even then it looks wrong and misplaced. “I’ll check the locks first!” Without a second glance, he makes his way out of the room, traipsing over the rows of futon on the floor.

Eventually, Tobio regains control of his body and hee's about to stand when he locks eyes with Tsukishima, untainted disdain glazed over his features.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Tsukishima hisses, voice dripping with venom, but there's something like incredulity mixed in.

Tobio pays him no attention, sauntering over to his own futon. Discreet glances are thrown his way, and he ignores those too as he eases himself on his cold sheets.

“You’re really fucked-up, I hope you know that.”

“Tsukki, that’s enough.”

Tobio pulls his blanket over his head and shuts his eyes tight, desisting the sting of tears threatening to spill, as the aftertaste of the absolute lie he just spit out burns his tongue like poison.

But it’s nothing compared to the pitiful shattered state of his heart, crumbling to dust at the realization that the person he loves finds amusement and _laughs_ at the mere thought of him actually caring about someone.

So this is what rejection feels like.

 

* * *

 

_(Tobio dreams of it again. He sluggishly opens his bleary eyes, his fingers already founding its way on his mouth. He could still feel the warm, feathery soft press in his lips, just like the first time he imagined it—torturously vivid. But something feels strangely different._

_Usually, he wakes from the dream dizzy with euphoria, savoring the sweetness even for just a fleeting moment, until he slowly ebbs back to reality, reminding him that it’s all in his fantasy. But this time, there’s a cold lingering behind the warmth and although it elicits the same sensation, it tastes bittersweet._

_He hears some ruffling of sheets to his right. His half-opened eyes didn’t even need to adjust to see the orange tuft of hair peeking out from under a blanket, striking against the dark. Another shift in movement and the blanket lowers, enough to reveal half of Hinata’s face, a beam of moonlight illuminating his features, casting a faint glow on his pale skin._

_A small, lazy smile forms on Tobio's lips. It’s not the first time he sees Hinata’s sleeping face, his own a few centimeters away, but every single time, without fail, he’s washed over by this overwhelming desire, a silent wish, to pull him close and just hold him in his arms, indulging in his soothing warmth.  
_

_But he knows it’ll remain just that. A wish._

_His eyes starts to droop, sleep claiming him once again. And if he sees a bead of tear slipping past Hinata’s lashes, he blames it on his blurry vision, feeling a streak of wetness trickle down his cheeks as he closes his eyes.)_

 

* * *

 

The next morning, curious and disbelieving looks drill holes at the back of his head, along with silenced murmurs and whispers when they think he’s not listening. He just scowls at them, emitting pure malice, and they would quickly scamper off like rats, but after about five minutes of peace and quiet, they would start again.

He knows what they’re thinking _and_ saying—the supposed genius setter of their team is a big fat liar. He’s aware of it and he admits that what he did last night was idiotic and hypocritical,  fooling no one but himself.

Except Hinata, apparently.

Halfway through practice, the looks and whispers died down significantly. Tobio sighs. His forehead is hurting from all the hard frowning and scowling all morning. He sits down on the wooden floor and leans back on the wall; he’s been practicing his serves non-stop for the last hour.

A slightly crumpled but filled water bottle appears in his line of vision, his already fading name in black marker peeking from the underside of it. He looks up and Yachi-san’s smiling face greets him, nudging his bottle towards him. He takes it with a murmur of thanks and hopefully, what he can muster as an appreciative smile.

To his surprise, Yachi-san remains standing in front of him, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, her cheeks staining pink.

“Uhm—K-Kagayama-kun—uhh—did I—do something?” she stammers, looking rather nervous.

Tobio tilts his head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

If possible, she fidgets even more, twisting her shirt every which way, crinkling it. “You keep staring at me, like really, _really_ intense since the start of Golden Week and I’m worried I did something to, like, get you mad or is it because of yesterday? I swear I wasn’t making fun of you! Or—or this is just your payback from the time I was angry with you but I’m not really angry with you and I’m sorry!”

Her voice hitches louder as she speaks, earning some alarmed glances from the people around them and if Tobio was confused before, then he’s sure as hell is now, especially from the last part of Yachi-san’s outburst.

“You were... angry with me?” he asks, hesitant.

Yachi-san unmistakably stiffens then she laughs—or Tobio thinks that’s what she’s doing—, her face getting redder. “O-oh! I mean from—because of—y-you know!”

Oh. Because of… _that_. Right.

“Oh,” he says dumbly. It suddenly hard to look at Yachi-san. “Uhh—no, it’s fine. I—I get it.” He clears his throat. “And I’m not mad at you. For that. And now.”

Without warning, Yachi-san drops unceremoniously on the floor beside him and lets out a heavy relieved sigh, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “Oh, thank God! I thought you were mad and you’re already plotting how to murder me.” Then she laughs, genuinely this time. “Just kidding!

It sounds almost exactly like Hinata, evoking the same energy, the same liveliness, that Tobio can’t possibly imitate even a tiny speck of it, and this is why he knows for sure why Hinata likes Yachi-san and not him. He clutches his water bottle tighter, just as an invisible force clutches his heart ( _I need to buy a new water bottle_ , he mentally notes).

“Kageyama-kun,” Yachi-san starts, jolting Tobio out of his wallowing. She eyes him warily, her face screwed up in question. “Is there something bothering you or something you want to tell me?”

When Tobio doesn't answer, she continues, now smiling, “If you want to say or ask something, ask away! If it’s about school or the schedules or—” she trails off,  conspicuously tilting her head and darting her eyes on the side but obvious enough for Tobio to catch and his eyes instinctively follows.

Hinata is sitting on the bench, his one leg propped up as he adjusts the laces of his shoes. Tobio’s gaze lingers far longer than necessary and when he peels his eyes away and back to Yachi-san, he’s met with a lopsided grin and wiggling eyebrows.

His face instantly burns and quickly drops his head, hoping his fringe will cover the red creeping across his cheeks. He hears Yachi-san laugh again and eventually, half of his brain functions, enough to point out that that reaction is a bit odd for someone who (maybe) likes the person in question.

When he’s sure the heat on his face subsides, he lifts his face back up. She’s still giving him a teasing smile, almost verging on a smirk which is a little unsettling seeing that kind of expression on her face.

“So?” Yachi-san probes, inching closer to him.

No time like the present, and honestly, he’s relieved that Yachi-san approached him first. That’s one step off his to-do list.

“Yachi-san, can I ask you something?”

“Sure!” Yachi-san responds eagerly, smile getting wider.

“Do you—”

“Whatcha talking about?”

Perfect fucking timing.

Hinata flops down next to Yachi-san and looks back and forth between them, grinning. “What are you guys talking about?” he asks again, more insistent.

Yachi-san shakes her head vigorously. “Nothing! Just something the coach wants Kageyama-kun to do. You know—” she gestures vaguely with her hands, “—some setter techniques thing.”

“Oh. What is it? Maybe I’ll learn something, too! I do need to work on my setting.”

At that, Yachi-san freezes and her gaze flickers to Tobio, desperation written across her face, screaming a silent _‘back me up.’_

If there is one thing Tobio is good at, it’s provoking Hinata. So he complies, clicking his tongue for added effect. “Instead of setting, work on your jump serves first, dumbass. Your success rate is still at 60% at best,” he says, channeling annoyance in his tone, although part of it is right—his serves _does_ need more work.

Hinata pouts and murmurs under his breath, “Stingyama.” He bounces on his feet, hastily standing up. “Fine! But promise to teach me how to set if I nail all my serves today,” he grumps, one finger pointing at Tobio in challenge.

“I doubt it.”

“Whatever, jerk.” Hinata stomps off but not before pulling a face and sticking his tongue out.

Tobio watches Hinata get into the court, retrieving a ball from the cart, getting ready to practice his serve. He observes Hinata’s every move, from the moment he throws the ball to how he starts his run-up and jumps.

 _You’re timing’s off, dumbass._ And he’s right, Hinata completely misses the ball, and it bounces on his head. He puffs his cheeks and stomps his feet in frustration, like a small kid throwing a tantrum. Tobio stifles a laugh, hiding it in his palm.

“I don’t understand.”

He flinches, quickly tearing his gaze away from Hinata. He completely forgot that Yachi-san is there with him, and now she’s looking at him with her brows drawn, completely puzzled. But her eyes are _literally_ sparkling with delight, her lips curving into a small smile.

He’s struggling for words to say. That must’ve been uncomfortable to see—someone else ogling at the person you like (he knows the feeling). But her reactions perturbs him, as if she’s actually enjoying the situation.

“I—it’s not—I’m sorry—”

She giggles. “Why are you apologizing?” Her teasing expression softens as something akin to comprehension dawns in her features. “I think I know what this is.”

“Yachi-san—”

She stands up, stretching her arms up as she does. The knowing smile still hasn't left her face. “We can talk later, okay? I have a feeling it’s going to take long, and this isn’t really the place for it. Right?”

Tobio blinks at her, stunned at her sudden, yet not-that-unusual perceptiveness, and he finds himself just nodding in affirmation. Yachi-san nods back and with a little wave, she stalks off, helping their new first-year manager in collecting empty water bottles lying around.

Yachi-san’s right—this isn’t really the right time and place for this. Volleyball takes precedence, and he sets aside his mission for now. He’ll take Yachi-san’s word on it, trusting that all the questions listlessly floating around his head will eventually be answered as soon as they talked.

And if there’s a cold dread slowly crawling on his throat, scratching its icy claws at the thought of his suspicions being an incontestable fact—even if he expected it—, he chooses to ignore it.

But it still persistently remains.

 

* * *

 

Tobio prepares to help with the cleanup when Yachi-san approaches him.

“Kageyama-kun, can you help me take these to the camp house?” Yachi-san says, arms occupied with a laundry basket filled to the brim with sweaty jerseys and towels. She’s smiling, giving him a pointed look.

Tobio’s mind is racing, running through all the possible ways he should approach the impending _‘talk’_ they’re going to have. His eyes find Hinata, and he’s looking at their direction, head tilted in puzzled curiosity.

_Fuck it._

Tobio grabs the laundry basket off Yachi-san’s arms and tips his head towards the gym’s door.

“Let’s go,” he says, a bit demanding, he admits, but he can’t waste any more time delaying and he’s scared he might actually descend into full insanity if he doesn’t get his answers now.

Yachi-san nods and as though she can read his mind, they scramble out of the gym as fast as they can, hoping Hinata won’t follow them like the nosy dumbass he is.

When they’re halfway between the gym and the camp house and there’s no orange-haired idiot in sight, they slowed down their pace.

“Give—give me a sec.” Yachi-san pants, both hands on her knees. “Shou-kun is not following, is he?” she asks after a minute of catching her breath, looking on every side and behind them.

Tobio does his own checking. “I don’t think so.” He studies Yachi-san. She seems awfully eager to have this _‘talk’_ which, in the first place, she proposed.

“Doesn’t Takeda-sensei usually help you with carrying the laundry?” Tobio asks as they resume walking. He consciously slows down his gait (he’s got a lot of practice with that), allowing Yachi-san to walk along with him, her hand supporting the underside of the basket which is admittedly heavy. And smells kind of disgusting.

“Yes, but I asked Ukai-san if you can help me instead.”

“Why?”

Yachi-san looks up at him timidly. “Well, you have something to ask me, right?” Tobio nods. “And—” she pauses, scanning their surroundings with narrowed eyes, then in a hushed voice, “—there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, too.”

Tobio blinks down at her. “Oh.”

She laughs at his reaction. “Don’t worry! I’m pretty sure what _you_ want to ask and what _I’m_ going to ask are basically the same.”

That doesn’t really help alleviate the anxious bees swarming in his stomach.

They finally arrive at the camp house and they go around the back where the laundry area is. Tobio puts down the basket with a grunt and a loud thud. He shakes his stiff arms, trying to loosen the strained muscles.

Yachi-san starts sorting the heap of jerseys and towels, her face crumpling in disgust at the whiff of sweat and teenage boys’ stench.

“Sorry,” Tobio finds himself saying, feeling embarrassed and guilty.

Yachi-san chuckles. “Oh, it’s fine. I’m used to it. And it’s not as bad as before, when I was helping Shimizu-senpai.” She fills up the washing machine with water. “And it’s my job and I’m not complaining. This is the only thing I can do to support the team.”

Tobio just stands there in silence, uncertain on how to respond. He knows Yachi-san does everything she can to support them, more than doing their dirty laundry or fill their water bottles. She helps fund their expenses with the posters she makes. She stays late to help them practice. She patiently tutors them, making sure their grades are within the passing rate.

“You—You’re doing more than that,” Tobio asserts. “Thank you.”

Yachi-san stills in pouring detergent into the machine and turns to face Tobio, beaming. “You’re welcome. Wow, hearing you say that to me is oddly gratifying. Like it’s an honor or something.”

His face heats up and he rubs the back of his neck, shuffling from where he stands. He didn’t really say anything particularly gratifying, just the truth. Yachi-san continues attending to the laundry, chucking the jerseys into the machine to wash. She starts the cycle and a whirring sound fills the air. She grabs two short stool from a corner and hands one to Tobio.

“It might be too small for you, but it’s better than just standing,” she says as she positions her stool next to him and sits down.

Hesitant, he sets the stool on the ground and sits on it. It’s sort of uncomfortable, his knees are almost to his chest, he might as well just sit on the ground, but he remains seated; he doesn’t want to impose on Yachi-san’s thoughtfulness.

They stay in comfortable silence for a good five minutes, the hum and tumble of the washing machine and the soft rustling of leaves feeding the quiet. Tobio fidgets in his seat; he should start talking before the rest of the team arrives, specifically one dumbass.

He’s trying to arrange the jumble of words in his mind into a cohesive string of intelligible sentence just as Yachi-san’s voice interjects into his cloudy thoughts.

“So, what did you want to ask me?”

Tobio takes a deep breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sucker for cliffhangers, sue me ┐(︶▽︶)┌
> 
> Tsukki really tried guys, but Kags is a goddamn trainwreck.
> 
> Will Yachi be our idiot duos saving grace? Or will Kags continue to be a dumb hypocrite? Is Hinata okay?
> 
> Find out next time on 'Two Stupid Idiots Who Can't Communicate Properly and Everyone Losing Their Fckng Minds'
> 
> ***
> 
> I will be on a sort-of hiatus for two months starting next week since I'll be preparing and studying to get into med school (wish me luck (*_ _)人). I'm really sorry for leaving you hanging like that. Or maybe not lol
> 
> But I won't necessarily be inactive. I do have the first draft for the next chapter so I'll be working on it during my 'rest days.' (^.~)☆ and you can message me or whatever on tumblr, give me ideas or prompts (or to just, you know, cheer me on as I bleed to death studying lol) because by the end of October, I'll bounce right back into writing. We just getting started on the A N G S T (O.O)
> 
> And again, thank you for indulging me in making these precious babies suffer and for keeping up with this fic thus far. Seriously, reading your comments or just continuing to read this fic is my inspiration and reason to write (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧


	11. Miscalculations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yachi is an angel
> 
> That's it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK BABY!!!! IS ANYONE STILL HERE?? HELLO? *crow noises in the background*
> 
> Finally!!! My exam is done and I am happy to announce that I did well. Extremely well, modesty aside („ಡωಡ„) I still have another one coming and an interview but the worst have passed so I'm more relaxed now lol.
> 
> ***
> 
> I have to be honest, I kinda lost steam for this fic, even though I love this child of mine to bits. My mental state had been...not that good for a while now, dissociation got me bad and it's kinda hard writing about emotions and feelings when you have none:")) But I'm feeling relatively better now, thanks to people who cheer me up and ALSO because season 4 is here and I loved seeing the ball boy arc animated! Tho it gives me whiplash when I read the manga then watch the anime xD
> 
> Okay, okay I'm sorry for the drama. Please proceed, y'all waited for this. Here's the much-anticipated (lol I'm stretching I know) continuation of the Cliffhanger™️

“So, what did you want to ask me earlier?”

Tobio takes a deep breath, mentally and emotionally bracing himself. There's a lot that he wants to ask, but he doesn't want to overwhelm Yachi-san, so he'll just—

"Did Hinata confessed to you? Why did you reject him? You like him, right?"

Yachi-san leans back from him, eyes wide. He doesn’t realize he’s been closing in towards her with every question and he quickly eases back with an embarrassed mumble of, “Sorry.”

Yachi-san just stares at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Maybe he was too brash with how he posed the questions, and frankly, he didn't even mean to just blurt them out in rapid-fire succession, but the words forced themselves out, like his system can’t get rid of them fast enough. He awkwardly sits in his too-small chair and starts picking at the grass, watching a few ants pass by his sneakers.

“Wh-what?!?” Yachi-san shrieks after a long beat of silence and Tobio almost falls off of his stool. She’s making unintelligible noises, spluttering and tripping over the words she’s trying to say. “Wha—Hina—Shou-kun—confessed—me— _what_?”

Tobio gets swept along in her wave of confusion and answers with a stupid, “Huh?”

“What?”

“What?”

“Shou-kun…. confessed—,” she says slowly, as if she’s learning the words for the first time and with a tilt of her head, she points a hesitant finger at herself, “—to _m-me_?”

Tobio nods. “Yes? He told me.”

“He…told you.”

“A few days after third year starts, I think.”

Yachi-san blinks.

Tobio blinks back.

Then Yachi-san snorts and bursts out laughing.

“Oh my god!” She giggles then quickly presses a hand over her mouth. “I-I’m sorry—” She lets out another series of suppressed laughs, biting her lip to keep the sound from spilling.

Tobio eyes her dubiously. Is she making fun of him? Of Hinata? Irritation starts to creep under his skin and he’s seriously considering leaving before he says some scathing retort and he really doesn’t want to do that to his friend. He remains seated, mentally chastising himself to _‘hold your fucking tongue.’_

“Kageyama-kun,” Yachi-san starts, voice soft and coaxing, sensing his growing annoyance. “Shou-kun didn’t confess to me.”

His heart jump starts, much to his annoyance, but the next words from Yachi-san stopped it before it starts to race with unwarranted relief.

“But I do like him.”

Like an anvil sinking at the bottom of the sea, his stomach drops, his heart mercilessly dragged along with it. Why does it still hurt, even after all the convincing he’s done? After all the walls and barriers he puts up, it still finds its way through the tiniest cracks, this unyielding, bitter pain clawing its way in. Why is he still—

“As a friend.”

—hoping that it isn’t true? That she—wait. What?

“What?”

“He didn’t confess to me, so I didn’t reject him. I do like him but only as a friend.” She smiles. “There’s the answer to all your questions.”

At those words, his traitorous heart expands with gratuitous relief, soaring up from the bottom where it landed. But he grabs onto it and drags it back down. He won’t let his composure fail him, it’s the only thing he has to anchor him to the ground, resisting the whirlwind of emotions inside, and _fuck_ knows he has a storm of that right now.

A memory flashes through his mind, something he should have recalled and taken into consideration, but as it is established that he’s a certified idiot, he only remembers now. “I saw you two hugging,” he claims, and if he feels any twinge of pain at the memory, he quells it down.

“Hugging?” Yachi-san purses her lips in confusion. Then her face slacks the moment realization registers in and her arms begin to wave in frantic motions. “Oh! It’s not what you think!”

“But you looked so—” Tobio pauses, wincing inwardly at the word he’s about to use, “— _intimate_.”

“No no no no! It wasn’t like that! He was just comforting me because—uhm—I was having a bad day and—and he thought I needed a hug, so he did!” She smiles nervously. “You know how affectionate he is.”

“He never hugs me,” Tobio mumbles, words slipping past his tongue before he can stop himself and he slaps a hand over his mouth, praying that Yachi-san didn’t hear him. Too little too late, she’s doing that look again—that sparkling eyes thing with the mischievous grin. He’s ransacking his brain for an excuse—or…or something—when he’s interrupted by a clicking sound from the washing machine.

“Oh. Wait a sec.” Yachi-san stands and beelines towards the machine. She pushes some buttons and restarts the cycle. With a sigh, she eases back on her seat.

“Kageyama-kun, I’ll say it again. Shou-kun didn’t confess to me and that hug was as platonic as it can get. Okay? And besides—” She lowers her gaze and fiddles with a lock of her blonde hair, her cheeks staining pink, voice turning soft as she shyly admits, “There’s someone else I like, so…there’s that.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

It’s stupid. Really, _fucking_ stupid, how annoyingly relieved he is hearing those words, augmenting the truth that Yachi-san sees Hinata as nothing more than a friend and he’s a horrible excuse of a human being, secretly celebrating and _despicably_ ecstatic over the fact that the person his best friend likes, likes someone else.

Tsukishima’s right—he’s fucked-up.

“But this isn’t about me!” Yachi-san follows through. She leans closer towards Tobio. “Is it my turn to ask questions?”

Tobio nods and her smile gets wider. “Why are you insisting that Shou-kun confessed to me? And if I like him?”

“Because I was planning on helping him.”

“Help him with what?”

“Get you two together.”

Her eyes go round like saucers, he’s actually scared they would bulge out of the sockets. “Why would you—you know what, never mind that question.” She moves even closer and her gaze burns like she’s drilling a hole at the center of his head and Tobio instinctively leans back. For precaution.

“Kageyama-kun, answer me honestly or I swear I won’t help with your homework ever again even if you threaten to kill me.”

This is the first time he’s witnessing what Hinata means by Yachi-san being awfully persistent, a far cry from how she was when they were first years. Maybe all these years of dealing with them roughened her up, but still with that gentle, reassuring aura, reminding him of the way Sugawara-san had been to them. Which, weirdly enough, also reminds him of his own mother.

She still looks rather anxious, her small frame quivering slightly even as she intimidates him, but it’s that gleam of conviction and trust in her eyes that pushes him to say, “Okay.”

How awful could the question be?

“Do you like Shou-kun?”

Tobio sucks in a sharp breath.

 _That_ awful.

Everyone might have known, but Yachi-san is the first person to actually ask him directly about it, leaving him staggered, frozen in his seat for a few minutes. Or hours. Yachi-san doesn’t repeat herself or makes any sound, just holds her piercing gaze, silently daring him to try and lie. Her nails dig at her knees in anticipation, lips pressed tight.

And he relents. Really, what’s the whole point of denying it.

He releases the breath he’s been holding and oddly enough, he feels calm as he answers with the undeniable truth, “Yeah, I do.” Then he adds, to at least have some veil of conduct in this conversation, “Isn’t it obvious?”

“I _knew_ it!”

The ear-splitting noises Yachi-san makes overwhelms the electric hums from the washing machine. Or any other sounds, actually. She bounces off her seat and squeals, high and drawled out, stopping for a second, then does it again, an octave higher than the last and Tobio resists the urge to cover his ears. He watches her jump up and down in place, her cheeks pulled into a toothy smile. He only sees her like this when she gets swept with excitement during their matches, _hell_ , she even looks more giddy and celebratory at Tobio’s declaration, and he’s not sure what to make of that comparison.

Embarrassed, maybe. A little bit of pride? Definitely, _abso-fucking-lutely not_.

“I knew it! Oh my god! And of course, it’s obvious! Gosh!” Yachi-san squeals again as she cups her pinkish cheeks.

“Of course?”

“Yes _of course_! You should see yourself whenever you’re with Shou-kun!”

His face instantly burns and he immediately throws a palm to cover it, turning to his side for good measure. He hears Yachi-san giggle as she sits back down, but he can feel her squirming, unable to stay still.

“Okay, okay.” Yachi-san inhales deeply, presumably calming herself. “Next question.”

He turns to her, even with his face still in flames. “There’s more?”

She lifts her shoulder in a shrug. “You asked me three questions. It’s only fair.” When he doesn’t answer, she takes that as a prompt to plow through her next inquiry. Her amused look shifts, washed over by something serious. Tobio gulps.

“When Shou-kun asked you if you like someone, you said no. Why?”

His brows cinch. “How did you know that?” The sharp accusation in his tone is palpable and Yachi-san slightly finches at it, but her determined stance persists and her facial muscles twitch in concentration, as if it’s taking everything in her just to stare back at Tobio with so much intensity.

“I just do. Why did you do it?”

Tobio frowns down at the ground. “Because I don’t want him to know.” _Because maybe if I deny it, it would go away and I can continue being friends with him without being so fucking scared of losing one of the two things I care about in this world._

“Why?”

“Because he likes someone else.” He glances back at her. “And it’s you. He likes you.”

Yachi-san’s jaw drops. “Wh-what?”

“It’s obvious,” he echoes, but this time it tastes bitter. He knows he shouldn’t be the one telling this to Yachi-san, that the right is reserved for Hinata, but his impatience takes control of his tongue on default; and the words are already out there, it seems pointless to retract them now. He sighs.

“Maybe to you that hug is just him being friendly, but not to him. I see the way he looks at you, Yachi-san. He’s happy when he’s with you.” His voice thins and hitches, heart twisting with every word, wringing it dry. “I should know.”

_Because I feel the same way whenever he’s with me._

She stares at him for a few seconds then gives him a small smile. “No, he doesn’t.”

“He does. Yachi-san—”

“Kageyama-kun,” she cuts in gently. “Have you seen the way Shou-kun looks at _you_?”

Tobio frowns. “What does that have to do with anything?

“Everything.”

He shakes his head even as his pulse starts to tremble. “It’s not the same.” Whether he's saying that to himself or to Yachi-san, he doesn't know anymore. “Sure, he looks happy whenever I toss to him, but anything aside from that—it’s…just not the same. I’m not good at reading emotions or social cues, but with him, I just…know.”

“Are you sure?” He can hear the slight incredulity in her tone. “I mean, have you really, like really, _really_ tried to look? You said it yourself, you just know when it comes to him.”

“That’s why I know the way he looks at you is different from anybody else. Even his smiles with you are different.” He says the last sentence in a murmur and he hates how the hurt shows through his voice.

Yachi-san exhales heavily, almost in aggravation, and Tobio has this vague sense that he's being lectured. “It’s different because I’m his close friend. But you, you’re not _‘anybody else’_ or just simply a _‘friend.’_ ” She smiles. “You’re special to him.”

The trembling in his pulse escalates to an erratic oscillation at hearing those words, but he continues to ignore it. He scowls at the ground. “I’m his best friend, I know. But lately, I feel like—I don’t know. He just seems so distant these days and—and I don’t know if he’s finally fed up with me or—or I don’t know!” He clutches a fistful of his hair then heaves a shaky breath and whispers, “I’m so confused.”

The silence stretches long enough to become uncomfortable and Tobio wonders if their conversation is over. He doesn’t know the protocol on how these things work, it’s strikingly different than any conversations he’s had before (granted a majority of those are volleyball-related so there’s not much comparison to begin with), but if Yachi-san deems their little question-and-answer finished, he’ll concede, even though there’s still about a million question listlessly swarming in his head and he’s even more confused now than when they’ve started. He doesn’t make any move though, he’s got enough tact to know that it’s rude to just get up and leave, and he’s waiting for Yachi-san to do so when she finally speaks up, but not the words he’s expecting.

“Kageyama-kun, did he ever tell you directly that he likes me?”

He lifts his face to look at her. “No, but—”

“If he does like me—which he doesn’t!—” she punctuates this with another series of wild and frenetic hand waving, “—wouldn’t he tell you that? Wouldn’t you be the first one to know?”

 _Yes, you would be_ , his brain supplies, automatic, no hesitation and it annoys him. It _fucking_ annoys him how Yachi-san can just say all these things he’s been trying to dismiss, hitting them dead at the center, prodding from where it’s buried in the recesses of his rational mind.

And it annoys him that she’s right.

Yachi-san notices his begrudging realization and she grins. “Shou-kun said there’s someone he likes—” She leans in his space, her voice hushed for dramatics as she deals another hard-hitting truth, “But he didn’t say it’s not _you_ either.”

Tobio splutters and Yachi-san giggles in her palms. His entire face blazes scorching hot, he can physically feel it emit from his skin, not to mention his moronic heart fluttering in mutiny inside his chest. “I—he’s not—I don’t think—”

She stops his babbling with a hand on his shoulders, hesitantly testing at first, then it stays. “Kageyama-kun, I know you tend to overthink and analyze stuff too much, but please, just this once, _don’t_. Sometimes the most important things are right there at the surface, waiting for you to take notice. I know you feel it.” She finishes with a pointed look, daring him to contradict her.

Tobio just stares at her, unable to form any response or any actual words. Maybe it's because his heart has clogged his throat caused by its wild trashing, dislodging itself from its place in his chest.

“You like to close-off from people, but with Shou-kun you—uhm—how do I put it? You’re yourself.” Yachi-san smiles. “Everyone calls you king. So be that. Be yourself. It’s okay to be a little selfish. We can’t have the things we want if we’re not, right?”

He finally frees his tongue from the roof of his mouth and breathes out, “I tried to be selfish. And it didn’t end well.” The acrid bitterness of his words corrodes his tongue.

Yachi-san sighs and gently removes her hand from his shoulders. “I think you’re both misunderstanding a lot of things but I don’t want to spell it out for you because it’s not my place. Just think about the things I’ve said and pay attention. Because it shows, Kageyama-kun. It’s always been there, just waiting for you to take notice. Trust your instinct, but more than that—” She takes a deep breath as Tobio cuts his own. “Listen to your heart.”

A large part of him understands that every word Yachi-san had said makes a whole lot more sense than the things he’s desperately trying to rationalize. But he’ll be lying if he doesn’t admit that all this just made everything complicated and even more confusing. He agreed to have this conversation to gain some reprieve, to finally have a solid, definite reason to fully give up on Hinata. So, yes, he is, in part, being selfish. He covered it up under the guise of wanting to help—although he does want Hinata to be happy—but really, he’s doing it more for the sake of his own susceptibilities. He didn't even consider how much it affected Hinata, how much it must've hurt to relive something when what you wanted is to have it erased from your consciousness. He just used it as an excuse to mollify his own hurt and only know does he realize how seriously fucked-up that is when he himself is going through the same kind of torture, the kind that leaves you to self-destruct and take collateral damages.

But in the end, it backfires, because nothing ever comes easy for him. Things took on a completely different turn, a full one-eighty. He didn’t get evidence or reprieve or reason. None. Zero. Yachi-san just flings those deep into a dark, bottomless void with no hopes of retrieving them.

Yachi-san stands and his eyes follow her. She smiles that reassuring smile again and with finality, she says, “When you figured it out, I think you’ll know what to do.”

She starts attending to the laundry, leaving Tobio in his too-small seat with nothing but his confused brain as company. He doesn’t even realize he’s already standing to leave and he thinks he mumbles a _‘Thanks’_ to Yachi-san—maybe he did—and he vaguely heard her say _‘You’re welcome’_ and _‘Good luck!’_ but it sounds stifled and disembodied, drowned by the addled thoughts swimming in his head.

Tobio walks aimlessly, relying purely on muscle memory until he finds himself in front of the camp house. He’s only jolted out of his foggy brain when he aggressively bumps into someone, giving themselves a start, and he takes a few seconds to recognize that someone—it’s Oda, who’s face blanches to a deathly white as he hastily backs away from Tobio and starts bowing hard and fast he almost leaves after-images, tripping over his apologies.

The rest of the second years hang back behind Oda, faces ranging from shocked to worried to aghast and it occurs to Tobio that he must be donning his _‘scary-confused’_ face (as Hinata puts it) and he clears his throat and tries to rearrange his facial muscles into a neutral one.

“It’s fine, I wasn’t looking where I’m going,” he says evenly, putting as much consoling in his tone to placate his panicking kouhai, and when Oda finally calms down—or at least he looks it—Tobio asks, “Where’s the rest of the team?”

Oda still looks a bit uneasy but he answers. “Uhm, the first years are helping Mitsuri with the dinner.” Mitsuri? Oh right, the new manager. “The captain and Tsukki-senpai went somewhere with Takeda-sensei. A-and—uhm—H-Hinata-senpai stayed behind to practice his serves.” Tobio notes the hesitance in his voice at the mention of Hinata. He ignores it and says his thanks as he half-jogs back to the gym.

Deciding to go back to the gym is more of an impulse action; Tobio doesn’t understand why he has to, he doesn’t understand a _lot_ of things, period. He suddenly just wants to see Hinata, even though he’s largely the reason Tobio’s in this highly confused state, but ironically, Hinata’s also the one who can dispel all this thick cloud of perplexity condensed by his recent discoveries. He could ask him, all those things Yachi-san had said, as some sort of counter-checking. Not that he doesn’t trust Yachi-san, he just wants to hear it directly from Hinata.

Tobio cringes and mentally gives himself a hard, solid face-palm. Hinata _did_ say it, he was even adamant about not liking Yachi-san in _that_ way, Tobio was the one who kept insisting in his bout of veiled selflessness, and admittedly his own stubbornness. But the fact remains, Hinata still likes someone else, confessed to that someone, and got rejected. Does Yachi-san know who it is? She did just answer according to Tobio’s questions and now he’s lamenting the missed chance. Or is she in the same boat as Tobio, floating blindly in this river of confusion? Just who is this person that even the people closest to Hinata (at least that’s what Tobio likes to think) doesn’t have an inkling of who it might be?

 _“They’re not interested in romance.”_ Was all Hinata had said. _“I asked them and they said no.”_

Frustration threads in Tobio’s veins, fueling him to pump his legs faster and he breaks into a run. It could be anyone, Hinata has a posse of friends outside of the club and Tobio never found the time nor intention to get acquainted with them. But he and Hinata are practically inseparable, there’s not a lot of instances where Hinata could find time to issue a confession without Tobio taking notice.

“... _wouldn’t you be the first one to know?”_

He suddenly feels betrayed. In all the years they’ve known each other, the expanse of trust between them started to extend beyond that of a setter-spiker relationship, bleeding past the confines of the court. He knows all there is to know about Hinata, the odds and pieces that make him, well, _him_. Every significant happening in Hinata’s life, Tobio is the one of the first ones to know, Hinata volunteering the information whether Tobio likes it or not. That’s how it was—until now. No, everything shifted right at the start of their third year, spiraled into this chaotic mess, Hinata at the center, Tobio haphazardly thrown around it.

His head throbs in aggravation, and…from too much thinking, he admits. He knows there’s something he’s missing here, a vital piece of the equation, and equations are already hard and headache-inducing in the first place. And why is he so invested in this? If he asks Hinata about it and he’ll finally have the identity of this mystery person, then what?

Is he really that stupid that he would purposely fling himself into something that can hurt him? Again? For the sake of what? Helping his best friend? Preventing himself from experiencing more pain?

Or maybe he really is just a masochist.

The gym is unusually devoid of the thumping sounds of balls hitting the floor or any sounds for that matter. It’s eerily quiet, none of the normal cacophonies of rowdiness—which is Tobio’s favorite kind of noise. When he steps in, the squeak under his shoes cuts and echoes through the silence of the room. The net is still up and about a dozen volleyballs are scattered all across the court, with a few toppled water bottles lined on one side.

His gaze sweeps and stops on a slumped figure by the wall and he heaves a half-exasperated, half-amused sigh as he makes his approach and flops down with his legs crossed next to the orange-haired idiot sleeping quite comfortably despite his awkward bent position, his head lolling forward ever so slightly.

Tobio could wake him up—he _should_ wake him up—and demand why the hell is he napping in here of all places and leaving the gym messy, but he doesn’t, and finds himself staring at Hinata’s sleeping face instead.

Hinata looks so open and honest like this, so vulnerable. It’s not like he isn’t when he’s awake, he definitely is, personality so big and straightforward, his body too small a vessel to contain it. But the Hinata of the past month has evolved into someone undecipherable. Someone too guarded and defensive. Too distant. Too secretive.

“What happened?” Tobio whispers, but the words reverberate through the stillness around them. _What happened to us?_ he’s about to ask, but clamps his mouth shut. Tobio’s _‘us’_ and Hinata’s _‘us’_ are two completely different things. Tobio’s _‘us’_ is just them—him and Hinata—best friends, partners. Hinata’s _‘us’_ is the team, his friends, and Tobio is nothing more than a part of that collective _‘us.’_

He releases a shaky exhale, leaning back against the wall when he feels a weight settle on his shoulder and he stiffens. Soft, curly hair tickles his chin and Hinata snuggles closer, rubbing his cheeks on Tobio’s shoulder, and every physiological function in his body screeches to a halt, rendering him literally frozen in place.

This isn’t the first time Hinata has slept on him, he does this almost every time they’re on the bus, but Tobio is too exhausted and worn-out to actually react to it, much less enjoy those moments, and he always ends up asleep himself. But this time, he’s absolutely, 100%, _totally_ awake, his heart threatening to burst right out of his _fucking_ chest, pounding loud and thunderous. Every point of contact between them is searing, sparking the nerves under his skin like fireworks, but at the same time, Hinata’s familiar warmth and scent seep through his unease, and Tobio can feel the anxiousness steadily roll off in waves and he relaxes.

A trickle of light streams in, bathing Hinata in an aureate glow, his tousled hair glimmering like threads of gold. Tobio’s hand twitches; it’s been so long since he’s touched Hinata’s hair, grabbing and ruffling those thick, soft curls under the pretense of aggression and punishment. Would it be weird and creepy to do it? Would it be so wrong to let himself indulge in an innocent gesture, something that’s been normal for him to do until now?

His hand seems to ignore all those bustling questions, moving as if it gained its own sentience and reaches out to lightly card through the silky locks, feeling the texture, noting how it’s gotten longer, the curly ends wrapping delicately around his fingers. He likes it, loves it, loves _him_ so much, and for one ephemeral moment, he surrenders himself to the feeling, to the affection bubbling up his skin.

Tobio’s touch travels from Hinata's hair, languidly, until he’s brushing Hinata’s slightly flushed cheek with the back of his hand—it’s soft and warm, just like in the made-up memory. Hinata leans and nuzzles to his touch, and Tobio didn’t think Hinata could get any softer than he already is, but he still manages to transcend from that, like a blanket of fluffy clouds settled and fused with him. He looks content and serene like this, his head lodged perfectly in Tobio’s shoulder like the space was made just for him.

Tobio wonders if this is what it feels like if his and Hinata’s _‘us’_ are of the same context. If together means together _together_. If Hinata belongs to him as much as he belongs to Hinata. If what he’s feeling now—happiness bursting and fluttering fitfully in his stomach—can be compared to that far-way dream contrasting reality.

He supposes he won’t ever find out but he thinks this is pretty damn close.

Slowly, he retracts his hand, letting it fall limply back to his side, just as he tears himself away from his delusions before the warm giddiness he feels distorts into pain. Hinata’s face scrunches and he murmurs, as if he’s demanding where Tobio’s touch has gone and it takes all of Tobio’s willpower not to return his hand. He doesn’t though, and just resigns himself to quietly sit there, hearing Hinata makes tiny, whistling noises when he exhales through his slightly parted mouth, button nose wrinkling and—yeah, okay, _maybe_ he’s still staring, but he can’t help it, his eyes unconsciously slide sideways before he can stop himself.

Idiot. He just needs to close his eyes then. He leans back, letting his head bump the wall, giving himself a literal and figurative smack in the head. With a drawled out a sigh, he drops his eyelids, exhaustion and fatigue from the day finally catching up to him. He can feel himself ebb slowly into sleep, just in the brink of unconsciousness, but it’s also the moment his thoughts decide to wander back to his and Yachi-san’s conversation, zeroing into the latter part of Yachi-san’s words, and his eyes fly open.

There’s just _something_ …weird about it, something he can’t pinpoint, the elusive missing portion of the equation. Only one thing seems clear—Yachi-san was trying to tell him something. But what? She did explicitly tell him what to do: not to overthink and to look at things more simply. To give in to his instinct. Still, it ultimately circles back to the question, _But what?_ What is he supposed to be looking at? What is there to see? Does he need prescription glasses like the ones Tsukishima uses? Would that somehow help him see clearer?

He thumps his head back at the wall again, giving his already rattled brain another shake. Trying not to overthink leads to thinking of ways how to, and he’s back at square one—overthinking. So annoying.

He takes slow, measured breaths, counting backwards from ten, like he always does before a match, to satiate his nerves and dispel any distracting, unwanted thoughts in his head.

And it does work, sort of. He’s still confused as fuck, but he at least has come into the conclusion that the two things at the top of his unending list of _‘Things That Don’t Make a Single Fucking Sense’_ are connected in some way. If he can figure out what exactly he’s supposed to see and take notice, then maybe he can trace it back to the mystery person and maybe—

Maybe—

Maybe he’s just denying the obvious. Maybe he knows it all along, seen it, felt it, and he’s just scared of letting his walls fall under the weight of the vastness and vulnerability of his feelings, fed by the possibility that it might be reciprocated.

Maybe he’s just scared of making the same mistake of letting himself hope again.

And yet— _and yet_ —when Hinata opens his eyes, blinking lazy and slow, seeking and eventually locking with Tobio’s own, he finds nothing but an endless stream of emotions, unguarded and free-flowing from those golden orbs.

“…Kage…yama…”

He finds nothing but an ocean of want and longing, waves and waves of it, enough to drown in at its immensity.

And in its midst is the burn of unmistakable hurt, and it rages, burns, scorches.

He finds nothing but the overwhelming emotions he tried to dismiss, to ignore, to dispel, convincing himself that those unadulterated looks of yearning can’t possibly be directed at him.

It doesn’t add up, he keeps telling himself.

It contradicts.

It’s impossible.

It’s all too honest, all too very obvious.

It’s exactly the way he feels.

It’s a mirror of how he looks back at those bright, round eyes, and he doesn’t need to see himself to know. He doesn’t need to see because it’s reflected back at him all this time.

_All this time._

But he purposely blinded himself from the glaring magnitude of it and hides in an impenetrable fortress, cowering under the fear of being vulnerable, of leaving himself defenseless and the pain it would cost him.

He concealed himself from the plain, simple truth, clogged his ears from the loudness of unspoken words, and letting his fear get the better of him. Deny himself of the obvious.

But now it’s too hard not to notice when it’s shouting at him, louder, louder, _louder_ , like a blaring siren going off, jolting him awake with wide eyes open.

Everything suddenly clicks into the place, the equation finally solved.

 

_“There’s someone I like.”_

 

     _“They’re not interested in romance.”_

 

_“Do you like someone?”_

 

     _“I ask them and they said no.”_

 

_“No, I don’t.”_

 

The hurt in those eyes seem to burn even more and his heart tears to pieces; lungs suffocated.

A blink and it’s gone.

But it was enough. It was more than enough.

“Oh crap, I fell asleep!” Hinata gasps and quickly leaps up to stand. The spot where Hinata rested his head immediately feels cold. Everything is cold.

“How long have you been in here?”

 

_I’m sorry._

 

“Long enough.”

 

_I shouldn’t have lied._

 

_I’m sorry._

 

Hinata raises a brow at him then he snorts. “What’s with that? Come on, throw me some tosses, you hardly gave me some earlier.”

Tobio stands and only has a millisecond to react when Hinata throws a ball at him, and he catches it by one hand in time. Hinata has always been fast and Tobio always needs to double his pace to keep up.

But he catches on eventually.

With Hinata, he always does.

He just needs a little time.

 

_Can I start over?_

 

Three seconds.

That’s how long it took for Tobio to realize that he’s a complete fucking idiot.

And he made a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are looking good right? Finally, right? Right?
> 
> R I G H T???
> 
> ***
> 
> Anyway, let me thank everyone who's been messaging me all throughout my hiatus, wishing me luck in my studying or just dropping by to ask how I'm doing. Like really, I love you guys (ಥ﹏ಥ) you made my days lighter and invigorated me on times when I just feel so tired and lost my motivation. Srsly, you people are wonderful and I hope that you'll be showered with blessings! ♥️♥️♥️
> 
> ***
> 
> Also! I'm more active on twitter now (@artemisia_hq) and if you want somone constantly screaming about kagehina in your timeline then follow me xD tho i do post manga spoilers after the official release so my acct isn't safe for anime-onlys lol. But my dms are open if you want to spazz about kagehina or hq in general and im always, always ready to scream about it any time of the day. So yeah, that's just shameless plugging, im sorry xD

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated :) Thank you for reading! ♥️
> 
> follow me on [tumblr](https://the-new-king-of-the-court.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/artemisia_hq?s=09)
> 
> ask me anything on my [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/hqartemisia)! 🐱


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